


Spirited

by diamondlife (elyndys)



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 62,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyndys/pseuds/diamondlife
Summary: Making a fresh start in life, Peter moves into a new home in the country, and soon realises it comes with a spectral occupant.Inspired by the 2010 TV series Spirited.
Relationships: Carl Barat/Pete Doherty
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missoneminute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missoneminute/gifts).



> This fic never would've happened without the inspiration, encouragement, and invaluable feedback of Missoneminute, who not only introduced me to the TV show that inspired the story, but also helped me with writing the entire fic. I'm deeply grateful for all her assistance! And you can (and should!) watch Spirited on Amazon Prime.

"Honestly mum, I don't know what the problem is! Everyone's been going on at me for years and years to settle down in one place, and now I've got somewhere it's not good enough?! Yes, I know it's an old house, and it is a bit down at heel, but it has character! It's exactly what I wanted. And I'll have space for you and dad to stay when you come over now. OK, well, you’re welcome whenever you have the time anyway.” 

Peter sighs as he hangs up the phone. He thought his parents would be happy that he’d finally invested the money he’d inherited from his nan in a property all of his own, but his mum has done nothing but fret and quibble ever since he told her. Sure, it might need a bit of work - or at least, it might to anyone else, but Peter thinks as long as the roof doesn’t leak too badly and he can get decent speed internet, that’s good enough for him. It’s spacious, so room for all his stuff, and more; it’s pretty rural, so he can wander around in the middle of the night and not get the police called on him; and it’s in a nice secluded location, so no disturbances. Perfect for finally starting to work on that book he’s been wanting to write for so long. 

Peter was keen to move in as soon as he possibly could - as soon as the electricity and water were back on, he had the first vanload of stuff ready to go. After all, he’s pretty sure his friends are sick of him flitting between their houses and taking up space on their sofas, and all his living arrangements before that were a string of disastrous housemates and spiteful exes. Peter is sick of living with people, and people seem to get sick of living with him pretty quickly, too. He’s immensely excited about living by himself for the first time… well, ever, and he can’t wait to make this new place his own.

It really is massive as well, an incredible bargain. From what they said at the auction, it’s been unoccupied for a number of years, and it does show, but there's no major damage or vandalism - it’s so hidden away that maybe people weren’t even aware that it’s here, or that it was empty. Peter can't help but wonder why it was so cheap - is there a terrible secret he doesn't know about? Bodies in the garden? Old family curse? He can't wait to find out, it just makes him even keener to move in. 

He's just brought in the last box of stuff from the van, and when he turns around to shut the door behind him, he gets the shock of his life when there's a bloke suddenly standing in the hallway. He hadn't noticed anyone on the drive, but Peter supposes he's been focussed on what he's been doing, so he could've snuck up while Peter was busy - he doesn't know the place at all yet, doesn't know where people might come from, or how, or when. 

"...Hello?" he tries. 

The guy looks almost as confused as Peter is. "Do you know who I am?" he asks, which doesn't make either of them any less confused.

Peter feels uneasy. Should he know? If so, why? What's he doing wrong? Who's he managed to piss off when he's only been here five minutes?

"Umm… no?" he says tentatively.

The guy runs a hand through his hair rather despairingly. "Fuck," he mutters. "I was hoping you would, because I don't."

Alright, this is a bit more than Peter bargained for. Has this guy wandered off from a… facility nearby? Is he supposed to be in hospital or something? Peter doesn't want to be a snitch if the guy has absconded from somewhere, but equally he doesn't want to be responsible if he throws himself in front of a bus. Or, worse, pushes Peter in front of one. 

"OK, well, where have you come from?" Peter asks.

"I don't know!" says the guy, with an edge of panic in his voice. "I don't remember… anything."

Bloody hell, a real life amnesiac! The poor guy looks really quite worried about it, which seems a pretty reasonable reaction really. Peter smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way. "OK, well, let's try and find out where you're meant to be, because I don't think it's here," he says. "I'm just moving in. My name's Peter," he adds, trying to be friendly. He puts his hand out for the guy to shake, and Peter thinks it’s a positive sign when he reaches out to take it - but nothing in his considerably wide and varied life experience could ever have prepared him for the sight and feeling of the other guy’s fingers passing right through his own, as if he wasn’t even there.

They both scream and jump back like they’ve been electrocuted. That’s kind of how Peter’s hand feels as well, as he stares, wide-eyed, his gaze flicking between his hand and the guy, still standing there in his hallway, looking solid enough - but how can he be? Peter has never seen a _ghost_ before, but he’s always thought of himself as open to the idea of them - and what other possible explanation can there be for what just happened?

Unless Peter has passed out or fallen asleep somewhere along the line, or is hallucinating the whole thing, but he certainly doesn’t feel like he’s dreaming or having any kind of episode. And he’s pretty confident that he’d know if he was. It’s certainly one of the more surreal moments of Peter’s life, but it’s also kind of… exciting? It’s definitely another interesting turn of events, just as he thought his life might be about to start settling down, after so many varied years. He knows that everyone who knows him would agree that inadvertently buying a haunted house is the kind of thing that would only happen to Peter. Maybe that’s what explains the low, low price. 

The guy - ghost - looks more shocked and terrified than Peter, poor fella. It must be an unpleasant surprise, to find out so brutally that you’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. 

“What just happened?!” the ghost guy says, in a kind of hysterical whimper. 

“Erm,” Peter starts, certain in the knowledge that he’s absolutely the wrong person to be delivering this news. “I think you might be… deceased.”

“No!” exclaims the ghost despairingly. “I can’t be! I don’t want to be dead!”

Peter is really not equipped to be dealing with this. He tries to think how he might feel, if he was suddenly forced to confront the knowledge that he was no longer in the land of the living. “Hey, look at this way, you’re still here, right? You’re back in the world! Could be worse!”

To Peter’s surprise, the ghost does seem slightly mollified by this, but his expression goes from one of agony and panic, to dejection and confusion. “But how?” he wonders. “Why don’t I remember? Why don’t I know who I am?” 

“OK, well, why don’t we try and figure it out?” Peter says, finally going to close his front door. He carefully walks around ghost boy - he doesn’t think it would be very polite to just walk straight through - and takes a good look, to see if he can pick up any clues. The guy is - was? - certainly very good looking, with clear blue eyes and what would look like a healthy olive complexion, if not for the obvious. He appears to be in his late 30s or so, about the same age as Peter, and he’s wearing very tight jeans - a fact Peter particularly appreciates when he views him from behind. And it’s from that aspect that he also notices there’s a design on the back of the leather jacket the guy is wearing - it’s a big cat, painted on in gold, and underneath is the word BARÂT. That must be a lead, thinks Peter. 

He takes a photo on his phone, hoping to show the guy to try to jog his memory, and a chill runs through him when the image just shows the wall of his house, complete with the boxes he's just brought in. It's unsettling, but moreover, he feels like an idiot. So automatic to take photos of everything these days, but this will require a more old-fashioned approach.

"Hey," he says. "There's a word on the back of your jacket that might mean something to you. Barah? Barratt? I'm not sure how to pronounce it, but it's spelt B-A-R-A-T. And the second A has a circumflex over it."

The guy looks like he's trying his hardest to remember, but it just doesn't come to him. 

"It's a pretty distinctive word, I've never seen it before, so it should be easy to Google," Peter says, already typing it into his phone.

"What… What's that?" the guy asks hesitantly, obviously afraid of sounding stupid as he gestures at the phone in Peter's hand.

Huh, that's interesting, Peter notes. Doesn't remember - or doesn't know - what a smartphone is. When did he die, anyway? Maybe it's a while ago. So why is he only showing up now?

"Oh," says Peter, not knowing exactly how much he can assume the guy knows. "It's a phone, but it’s also like a little computer, that you can carry around with you anywhere. And you can look things up on it, like a library, or an encyclopaedia. So I'm going to type in that word, and see what it tells me." He hopes that doesn't sound too patronising. The guy seems accepting enough of this explanation, and is standing there now with a look of expectant trepidation on his face, so Peter hurriedly hits search.

His eyes widen as the results load. He looks between his phone and the figure in front of him, now in no doubt that they’ve at least cracked the first part of this mystery. He holds up his phone so the guy can see.

The ghost peers at the screen, and recognition immediately dawns. “That’s me!” he breathes. “Carl Barât.” He looks back up at Peter’s face delightedly. “I remember now! Carl Ashley Raphael Barât.”

Peter smiles back at him. “That’s a good start!” he says encouragingly. “Shall we see what else it says about you?”

The ghost - Carl, he can call him now - nods excitedly, so Peter reads on. 

“So you were a musician - ‘lead singer and guitarist of the English rock bands Dirty Pretty Things and The Jackals’,” he reads, noticing that Carl is nodding with relief, as though more pieces are fitting into place. It does to Peter too - Carl certainly looks every inch a rockstar. And that just makes the fact that he’s here haunting Peter even more interesting, he thinks. 

The next thing that catches Peter’s attention on the screen makes his eyes widen. It’s the information he was most curious about, but now he’s seen it he’s not sure how to relay it to Carl. Still, he thinks, if it was him, he’d just want to know. No hesitating. 

Peter takes a breath, looks Carl in the eye, and says, “Disappeared 17th June, 1987.”

Carl stares at him in fresh distress. “Disappeared? You mean I… was never found?”

Peter shakes his head slowly, feeling helpless. It’s hard to know where he should start, but he can’t deny he’s as curious about it as Carl must be, even if it is a bit less pressing for him. He clicks on Carl’s Wikipedia page and goes straight to the section headed ‘Disappearance’.

“You’d played a show in London, and you were supposed to play Glastonbury a couple of days later. But you never showed up. And when they checked the place where you’d been living, in Marlborough, Wiltshire… there was no sign of you.” Peter looks up from his phone, cogs turning in his own mind. “Place in Marlborough? As in, Marlborough where we are at the moment? Where I just bought an old unoccupied house that we’re standing in right now?” Peter guesses they've figured out why Carl is haunting this particular house.

Carl looks around himself, realisation seeming to dawn as he contemplates what Peter is saying. “Yes,” he breathes, taking a few steps around the room. “Yes, that’s right! I moved out here - into _this house_ \- to get away from the city, to have a period of solitude where I could try to focus on getting my creativity going again."

Peter's eyes light up. "Me too!" he exclaims. "That's why I thought this place would be perfect, to do some writing."

Carl smiles wanly. "I hope you have more luck than me with that," he murmurs. He sighs. "I never wrote the album I'd been trying to for years. Maybe that's why I… disappeared," he trails off.

"You don't remember any more about it yet?" Peter asks sympathetically.

Carl shakes his head, still looking troubled. “I’m getting bits and pieces, but there’s still a lot of gaps,” he sighs.

"It’ll all come to you in time," Peter says encouragingly. "Let's see what else we can find out online, that'll jog your memory."

"I don't want to take up too much of your time," says Carl timidly. "I mean, you must be busy with moving in." He gestures at the boxes strewn around the room. 

Peter had almost forgotten all about that. "Oh, don't worry about that, I'm fine with things the way they are," he says, completely truthfully. "This is much more interesting! Now come on, we've got a mystery to solve!" 

Peter sits down on the floor in the midst of his boxed possessions, and the ghost sits next to him. Peter thinks he should feel a chill or something, but he doesn't at all - it's just like having a person there, and it's easy to forget Carl isn't actually bodily present. Quite nice to have the company, Peter thinks. And Carl, for the first time, seems to be smiling, just a little, at Peter's enthusiasm and willingness to help.

Peter certainly wants to show how willing he is to help Carl figure out some answers - he’s highly intrigued himself. Peter is pretty internet savvy, he’s no stranger to fandom, so he has some ideas of where they might start. “Let’s try some fan forums, see if they have any theories,” he suggests, going back to Google. 

"I feel nervous," Carl confesses as Peter searches. "Though I don't know why. I'm already dead, what's the worst that could happen?" he asks dryly. 

"That's the spirit!" Peter says encouragingly. "No pun intended of course," he adds hastily. "OK, there's some definite recurring themes here," he says, scrolling through the screen. "Some of them think you just disappeared to live off the grid. Got a camper van, grew your hair, joined a commune, that sort of thing."

Carl pulls a face that makes Peter think that seems unlikely. "That doesn't sound appealing," he says. 

"And you're certainly not dressed like a hippy," Peter chuckles. "There's a few people who think maybe you were murdered. By… any number of people, by the looks of it." That sounds like a pretty exciting way to go, thinks Peter.

Carl shrugs. "That probably makes more sense. Something had to catch up with me at some point, I imagine. I'm pretty sure I burnt a few bridges in my time," he says philosophically. “Probably a good job I don’t remember all of those.”

“I envy you there,” Peter murmurs wryly. “There does seem to be one other prevailing theory,” he says, a little more uneasily. Again, he’s unsure he possesses the necessary gravity for this. “Quite a few people seem to think you might’ve topped yourself,” he says, with characteristic tact. “‘Carl always did have a flair for the dramatic, and it would be just like him’,” Peter reads. “‘After all, didn’t he always say’-”

“ _Top of the world, or bottom of the canal_ ,” Carl finishes for him, and Peter looks up at him in surprise.

“You remember?” he asks.

“I remember saying that, repeatedly,” Carl says thoughtfully. “But I don’t remember actually doing it. But it’s possible - highly likely, in fact - that I was absolutely battered when it happened. However it did,” he adds.

Peter can’t help but snort a laugh at that. “Well, it says here that they even dragged Regent’s Canal looking for you, but they didn’t find any trace.”

Carl squints over Peter’s shoulder at his phone screen. “But they didn’t do it until I’d already been missing three months!” he exclaims, outraged.

Peter tuts sympathetically. “I guess that’s what it was like in the 80s, the police didn’t give a shit. Sounds like they thought a rockstar type like yourself might have just gone off on an irresponsible adventure or a wild bender, and you’d show up eventually.”

“Well, they were obviously wrong about that!” Carl says indignantly. He pauses, looking quizzical. "You say that's what it was like in the 80s, so what year is it now, anyway?"

“It's 2019," Peter explains gently. 

Carl’s eyes widen. “2019?! Bloody hell! I have been gone a while!” He pauses, looking at Peter more closely. “So… were you even born, back when I…?” he trails off awkwardly. Peter supposes he’s still getting his head around what happened to him, it can't be easy to reconcile.

“I was 8 in 1987, but I didn't live in England for a lot of the time when I was a kid, so… I don't remember it happening I'm afraid. And my parents were about as far from rock'n'roll folks as you could imagine," he says, chuckling to himself at the very concept of his mum and dad listening to punk or rock music, or even knowing who someone like Carl was.

"So you've never heard my music?" Carl asks. He sounds half offended, half forlorn.

Make that three quarters forlorn, Peter thinks when he looks at his face. "Sorry," he says sheepishly. "But I can put some on now!" he says, opening Spotify and searching. 

“I released four albums, I remember them all,” Carl says eagerly, obviously happy as more of his memory gets filled in. “Two with Dirty Pretty Things, one with the Jackals, and a solo album. Though I seem to have the feeling that didn’t go down too well with anyone. I wish I hadn’t remembered that,” he admits, making a face. 

“I’ll start in chronological order, shall I?” Peter says. He’s very keen to hear Carl’s music. 

" _Waterloo to Anywhere_ , that was the first one,” Carl supplies, seemingly just as keen. 

Peter isn’t sure if Carl wants to preen about his music and show it off, or if he just wants to see if it’ll help him uncover more of his memories. Either way, Peter is happy to oblige, and he presses play. With all the strangeness of the situation, it hadn’t actually occurred to Peter to wonder if he’d actually enjoy Carl’s music, but he finds immediately that he does. Which is for the best, he reflects, because having to lie to a ghost you just met about how good his life’s work is, when you actually think it sucks, doesn’t sound like a prospect Peter would enjoy. Being haunted by a friendly ghost is one thing, but having to deal with one you’ve pissed off sounds very awkward, and with the potential for a lot of unwanted poltergeist activity. 

“This is really good!” he enthuses. 

“You’re not just saying that to be nice?” Carl asks cautiously. “You don’t have to protect my feelings - after all, finding out you’re dead does put things in proportion a bit.”

“No, honestly!” Peter stresses. “It’s my kind of music, I’m really enjoying it.” 

Carl smiles, looking relieved. “Thanks,” he says modestly. “We really did have a lot of fun making that album,” he goes on nostalgically. “The second one though…” He makes a face. “Not so much. Things got way too out of control. Started to believe our own hype, thought we could do anything we wanted. Spent a fortune going to America to make the record, spent even more on coke that turned out to be laced with crystal meth. Disaster all round really. No wonder the record didn't turn out that great. Aw fuck," he winces, "Now I've prejudiced you against it before you've even heard it. That's great marketing for you."

Peter laughs. "Don't worry, I'll make up my own mind when we get there," he says. “It’s good that you’re remembering so much,” he offers, by way of congratulation.

“Yes, it’s ironic really, isn’t it,” Carl says wryly. “During my life I got pretty used to finding myself in places with no idea where I was or how I got there. I shouldn’t really be surprised or alarmed if there are big gaps in my memory. But listening to the music is helping uncover what is there,” he says, sounding grateful. 

"So, after the second album, you broke up?" Peter asks. It would feel a bit rude to keep reading Wikipedia when the primary source is right here in front of him, and listening to the music and talking about it seems to be stimulating Carl’s memories pretty effectively.

"Yeah, though it was all very amicable, I stayed friends with the boys," Carl says. A sudden thought seems to strike him, and his eyes widen. "I wonder if they're all still alive? How old would they be by now? They might well still be going strong, unless they're anything like me," he muses.

"We can probably find that out pretty easily too," Peter says, already Googling. All the members of Dirty Pretty Things have their own Wikipedia pages, so it's an easy task to confirm they are all indeed still alive, and see what they've been up to since the band split up.

Carl peers over his shoulder at the screen again. "Gary did some drumming with The Specials?!" he exclaims, sounding and looking extremely baffled. "Fair play to him I suppose, I remember being at a party and drunkenly telling Terry Hall over and over how much I loved Gangsters and Too Much Too Young, even after he awkwardly told me every time that he didn't write either of those songs." 

Carl sounds quite nostalgic about the old days. Peter finds it rather sweet. 

"Do Anthony next!" Carl instructs, obviously getting the hang of Googling by proxy. "I loved that man, he was a great bloke and a great friend. Gave great head too," he says fondly.

Peter does a double take at that revelation, but before he can ask any further questions, Carl is impatiently reading Anthony's Wiki page.

"He's won a Grammy?! And an _Oscar_?!" he exclaims. "Fucking hell, maybe if I'd stuck around a bit longer I would've ended up in bands with my heroes, and winning international awards," he says, suddenly sounding very deflated. 

“Maybe you did, and you just don’t remember yet,” Peter suggests, trying to be kind. “So after Dirty Pretty Things split up, you went solo?”

“Yeah,” Carl says, with a kind of wince. “Must’ve thought I was Bryan Ferry or something. Decided I wanted to do something completely different, something where I could just do everything the way I wanted. Turned out no-one else wanted it.” He makes a face again. “I just put you off that album as well, didn’t I? No wonder it wasn’t much of a success.”

Peter laughs again. “I have to admit, you’re not exactly how I’d picture a rockstar,” he says. “You’re not quite as full of swagger as I’d imagine.”

“Oh, I was terrified the entire time,” Carl says blithely. “I’d get so nervous I used to throw up before shows sometimes, especially when I was doing the solo thing. That’s one of the reasons I was always completely shit-faced onstage, and a lot of the time off it as well.”

“That’s a bit more rock’n’roll,” Peter says with a chuckle.

“Oh, you could count on me in that department,” Carl says, with a cheeky smirk. “But it was a bit more difficult when I was doing the solo shows, and trying to convince everyone I was a grown up. Plus, it’s kind of lonely trying to have a jolly time with a bunch of session musicians you’re paying to be there. Judgey wankers,” he mutters. “So I decided I needed another proper band. Started from scratch - advertised in the back of Melody Maker, held some auditions - by which I mean, I invited a shortlist down the pub and chose the ones who were the most fun to get drunk with. Didn’t work out too badly,” he says with a tinge of pride. “Can we see what those boys are doing now too?”

“Of course,” says Peter, Googling again. He’s a naturally curious person, he loves looking things up and following the rambling threads of a search, so this is a usual sort of entertaining activity for him. He can’t find as much information about the members of the Jackals as he could about Dirty Pretty Things - Jay has played with several bands, making a living as a musician, but Adam seems to have left the music industry years ago. He doesn’t seem to have a Wikipedia page, but Peter finds some social media profiles showing a contented family man, now in his 50s, taking his young grandson to the beach and doing other wholesome things. Peter would never have guessed this guy used to be in a rock band, but Carl seems pretty happy to see his old bandmate living a settled life, at least. 

It seems like a nice feelgood story, and everyone has had a happy ending - but both Peter and Carl get a shock when Peter Googles the last of Carl’s bandmates. Billy doesn’t have a Wikipedia page either, and Peter can only find a seldom-used Instagram page that seems to belong to him. But when he scrolls a little further, there’s a few rather more lurid results that make Peter’s eyes widen and Carl swear.

“What the fuck!” Carl exclaims. “‘ _From choirboy to rockstar’s bum boy_ ’?! What is this?!”

“He, um, did a kiss and tell on you?" Peter guesses, trying not to sound too scandalised. When he starts to read the article, it quickly becomes apparent that he's right.

“That headline makes me sound like a pervert!” Carl says indignantly. “He wasn’t some innocent kid I took advantage of! He was 25 years old! And he was very willing, let me make that quite clear!”

Peter can understand why he would be, if he’s honest. Being selected to be in a band with an established and successful musician, and a very good looking one at that - Peter can see how anyone would be flattered by the attention, and absolutely delighted to embark on a hot backstage affair with Carl. 

"Pretty unfair of him to make money off your name when you weren't even around to defend yourself," Peter says sympathetically. "What a bastard."

Carl shifts a little uneasily. "I mean, I probably didn't treat him as well as I should've," he concedes. "I think he wanted a lot more from our relationship than I did," he admits with a grimace of regret. "I didn't handle it all that sensitively."

That rings pretty true for Peter, too. "Ahh, we've all been there," he says, wishing he could pat Carl on the shoulder comfortingly. "At least it shows you were famous enough that the papers were interested and he could make a bob or two off you, eh?" he says, and to his surprise, Carl actually seems cheered by that.

"Yeah, at least I wasn't easily forgotten," he says with a wry chuckle. "Listen Peter, do you smoke?"

"Um, yes, I do," Peter says, feeling for his cigarettes in his jacket pocket. 

"Would you mind lighting one up? I think that's the thing I'm going to miss most about being alive," Carl says. "Being able to smoke."

"Sure," Peter says with a smile, and obliges happily. 

"Ohh, that's better," says Carl, closing his eyes as he inhales. "I know it can't have any effect on me. But the power of suggestion is good enough."

"So Carl," Peter has to ask. "Did you shag all your bandmates then, or what?" He can't resist, he's just too nosy to let this drop.

"No way!" Carl says making a face. "I would never have had sex with Adam, or Gary."

Peter stares at him, grinning. That leaves the majority of bandmates for whom it must've been at least a possibility. "You liked your sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll all in one place, eh?" he teases.

"It did make things very convenient," Carl deadpans. "Except when things got messy, like with Billy. Which they inevitably did," he says. He does sound a little rueful, but this time Peter also gets the sense Carl’s remembering the sexual dramas of his life with a certain satisfaction at having seen so much action. 

"Sounds like you lived life to the full," Peter says with a smile. He’s a little envious - not necessarily of Carl’s fame or even fortune, but of the opportunity that they must’ve afforded him to just do what he liked, live a life filled with adventures and excitement and freedom. Peter also kind of relishes a little drama in his life, to add some spice - and he supposes getting a house with the ghost of a rockstar attached to it certainly gives him that. 

“Yes, I suppose you could say I did,” says Carl, and Peter is pleased to note he sounds rather uplifted by the memories. He might even go so far as to say Carl seems a little smug about his exploits. 

“I wonder if there’s any footage of your shows on YouTube,” Peter says, already searching. “Oh, there’s quite a few! Top of the Pops, Old Grey Whistle Test, live at the 100 Club, the Marquee, the Roxy - there’s more footage than I thought there’d be. These days you go to a gig and everyone is filming on their phones the whole time,” he explains to a slightly mystified-looking Carl. 

He hits play on one of the videos, but as soon as the song starts, Carl jumps up, grimacing. 

“I can’t bear to watch myself performing, it just makes me cringe too much,” he says. “But you watch! I don’t want to stop you. I’ll just go walk around the house a bit more, see if I can remember anything else.” 

To Peter’s alarm, he walks straight through the wall to the kitchen, then immediately steps back through. 

“Just wanted to see if I could do that,” he explains, with a faint smile, then disappears through the wall again. 

Peter settles down to watch this playlist of videos. He suspects Carl really quite wanted him to see him perform, but didn’t want to have to be here to watch himself, or watch Peter watching him. That’s fine with Peter, he’s curious to see Carl in his heyday, performing his own work. He doesn’t really have any idea what to expect, in terms of the show or Carl’s stage presence, but it doesn’t take him long to realise he’s seeing a very different side to Carl from anything he’s seen so far. The Carl in Peter’s house, Ghost Carl, has been funny and intriguing, self-effacing, honest, down to earth. Charming and good looking, and just a little cheeky. But the Carl on his phone screen, the Carl on stage in the flesh - he reveals a complete other dimension to himself. This Carl is full of passion and tightly coiled energy, putting everything into the way he sings and plays guitar, shirt off and slick with sweat and commanding the stage and the attention of everyone in the audience. Even in low quality old TV footage, his sheer presence is obvious. Peter suggested to Carl - Ghost Carl - earlier that he lacked swagger - but now he sees he couldn’t have been more wrong. This Carl struts around the stage, charismatic and captivating - this Carl is _sexy_ , and Peter can’t take his eyes off him. 

With only the slightest feeling of guilt that he’s ogling the unsuspecting new acquaintance that he only met today, Peter keeps eagerly watching every video he can find. He’s certainly getting familiar with Carl’s songs now, but even more familiar with Carl’s smooth, slender body, and the slinky way he moves at the microphone during his more sensuous songs. It’s more obvious than ever to him why Carl’s bandmates couldn’t seem to resist him. Peter is having some pretty naughty thoughts himself. If he’d discovered Carl and his music when he was a teenager, he’d never have left his bedroom. 

Peter is so caught up in his little solo viewing party that he jumps out of his skin when he hears Carl’s voice suddenly in the room with him again.

“You’re still watching that?” Carl says, sounding surprised.

“Bloody hell, you made me jump!” exclaims Peter, feeling himself blush profusely at being caught red-handed perving over Carl. He hopes ghosts don’t have any mind-reading powers. 

“It’s not my fault I don’t make any sound when I walk about,” Carl says, amused. 

If he notices Peter’s discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. To Peter's relief, he doesn't even ask for Peter's thoughts on what he's been watching - he supposes Carl is either too modest or too confident to directly fish for compliments. 

“A funny thing happened," Carl goes on, apropos of nothing. "I went out into the back garden and three cats were out there. Two black and white ones, and a grey one that looked just like one of mine! I had a couple when I lived here, Baudelaire and Genet - would be nice to think their descendants are still living around the place.”

This is a bit of a conversational whiplash from Peter’s previous train of thought, but he’s grateful for it. “Did they see you?” he recovers himself enough to say. “When cats are staring into space, you know they’re looking at ghosts.”

“Oh yes,” Carl agrees. “They definitely saw me, it was actually very comforting, to be honest. Please tell me you’ll put some food out for them.”

“Of course,” says Peter, smiling. "I really enjoyed watching your gigs just now, y'know," he goes on, feeling brave enough to talk about it now. He thinks Carl would probably take it the wrong way if he just didn't mention it at all.

"Oh you did?" Carl says, as if he'd completely forgotten that's what Peter was doing. "Thank you, that's really nice to hear." He's smiling, modestly, but he looks genuinely pleased, and that pleases Peter too.

"You were a great showman," Peter says honestly. "And the atmosphere must've been amazing, the audiences looked like they were having a fantastic time."

Carl smiles in fond recollection. "Yeah, we had some fun," he says. "Good times. But so long ago," he says wistfully, and Peter has to admit it is still a puzzle, as to why Carl has suddenly appeared for the first time, when he's been… missing for so long. 

"At least you went young enough to be a good looking ghost forever," Peter says cheekily, and he sees Carl's lips turn upwards in an irresistible smile, before he ducks his head to hide it. "Listen," Peter goes on, as an idea strikes him. "I've got to go back to London tomorrow, pick up the last lot of my stuff from my mate's house - do you want to come with me? It might jog a few more memories for you."

"That'd be great!" agrees Carl, his eyes lighting up. "It would be so good to see London again. I'm sure it's changed massively, but I hope some of my favourite parts are still there."

Peter, always delighted to discuss his favourite city, is happy to fill Carl in on what the city is like now, and compare their experiences of it, separated by the decades. Peter is always eager to hear first hand tales of a London he never got to see, and Carl has plenty of entertaining escapades to regale him with. And Peter has one or two of his own to share with an equally interested Carl. 

Eventually, to both of their surprise, Carl yawns. "I'm tired!" he announces, sounding outraged. "I thought ghosts would be free from the inconvenient need for sleep! What a rip off! I guess 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' is true after all." 

Peter sympathises, but he can't help but laugh. "You can sleep in my bed," he offers. "Though you'll have to wait a minute for me to find some sheets to put on it."

It takes more than a minute, but Peter eventually finds enough bedding to make the bed for his unusual guest. He guesses Carl won't be able to take his clothes off, which is secretly a bit disappointing, but he supposes at least there's YouTube for that. After Carl is safely tucked up - or at least, lying kind of awkwardly on top of Peter's bedcovers - Peter does a little more unpacking. Ordinarily he'd be happy enough living out of boxes until everything naturally found its place - its place usually being the floor - but he feels a little self-conscious, and even guilty, at the thought of making a mess of the house now he knows its former owner is observing. So he puts some books and records neatly on shelves, unpacks enough kitchen equipment to make himself a cup of tea in the morning, then finds his computer so he can watch more videos of Carl, on a bigger screen, undisturbed. He’s doing research, he tells himself, he’s just trying to unearth any clues that might help fill in Carl’s memories. 

That starts out as an excuse, but it quickly becomes more true when he comes across a documentary about Carl and his disappearance, made many years after it happened. Peter starts to watch, and quickly begins to see that Carl must’ve been a more important cultural figure than Peter had realised. There are interviews with Carl’s ex-bandmates (except Billy, Peter notes with some amusement), friends and family that describe him as a passionate and gifted creator, a fierce romantic, as charismatic to everyone as Peter has found him, but someone who felt alone and apart from the rest of the world for much of his young life, always searching for someone who really understood his mind and his way of seeing things, but never managing to find them. Peter learns that Carl was born with a twin brother, who died when they were babies, and his heart aches as he listens to Carl’s sister say maybe that’s why he always wanted to find someone to fill in the gap left by that missing piece. 

Carl may have led a colourful and eventful life, but Peter is left with the impression that he was always chasing something more, trying to make up for something he lost and could never replace. 

It certainly puts both Carl and his disappearance in a new light for Peter. Carl didn’t seem to think that he’d done it deliberately, but what if he just stopped caring so much, got even more reckless with his own life, after years of risky behaviour? Peter isn’t entirely sure what to do with his new insight. He can’t un-learn it, and maybe it was all an angle anyway, just edited that way for TV to make a more dramatic story. But should he approach Carl with it, even though it might trouble him? He supposes the ethical thing would be to show him the documentary - and besides, everyone in it said how vivid and unique a person he was, how much they loved and missed him, what an inspirational figure he’d been in their lives and in music. Peter thinks that might be a comfort to Carl, to see how much he meant to people - and, even more, to get to see his loved ones one more time.

He’ll tell Carl about it tomorrow, he thinks. Maybe he can figure out a way for Carl to watch it in the car on the way to London - he can't exactly hold Peter's phone to watch it, after all - or they can watch it when they get back. 

In a contemplative mood, Peter heads to bed. Carl is sleeping, somehow - Peter wonders whether it's a bit impolite to get in bed with a sleeping person who you've just met today, but it's not like they're going to push each other out of bed, or have any awkward skin contact or limb tangling. Peter reasons that he might well have shared beds with ghosts in the past, and he just doesn't know about it because he couldn't see them. It's not off-putting to him anyway, and he's sure it won't exactly be a new situation to Carl either, waking up in bed with some bloke he only just knows the name of. 

Anyway, that's something for tomorrow Peter to handle. He brushes his teeth and changes into sleepwear, and gets into bed, trying not to disturb Carl lying on top of the covers. It's definitely been one of the more interesting days of his life, even by Peter's own standards. Something to write about when he finally settles down to work on the book, is his last thought before he falls asleep.

In his dream, Peter is in a big, ornate hall. It's like a ballroom or a function room in a hotel, he thinks, or an old theatre that's been made into a music venue, because there's still a stage at one side of it, but the stage is quite low. There's not many people around yet, but Peter instinctively moves closer to the stage, because he knows whatever is happening on it is going to be good. He feels like he has to wait an age - what a boring dream, he thinks, just standing around waiting for the show to start. He hopes he doesn't wake up before it does, that would be frustrating. 

Suddenly he's surrounded by people pressing into him on all sides, and there's bright lights and crashing guitars and then, on the stage, is Carl, and somehow Peter isn't surprised to see him at all, like that's what he knew he came here for all along. And even though he's off to the far side of the stage and there's people all around him, swallowing him up, Carl sees him right away, and Peter smiles, and Carl smiles back, like they're sharing a joke only they know. 

He wakes up in the morning still smiling. That was a nice experience, he thinks, it felt like a moment of communion, like he was offering Carl a friendly face in the throng of expectant and clamouring fans, and Carl had accepted it gratefully.

He's lying on his side facing away from Carl, and until he turns over to see, he has no idea at all whether he's still there or not - can't feel him, can't hear him breathing (obviously), can't sense a body next to his. It's a little bit eerie, Peter has to admit, but when he turns over and Carl is still lying there, he feels a sense of delight and even relief, that Carl hasn't disappeared and the whole thing wasn't just one bizarre extended hallucination.

Unless it still is, and just hasn't ended yet, but Peter is very happy that it hasn't.

Carl is lying facing him, too, and his eyes are already open. He doesn't look too shocked or outraged that Peter just hopped into bed with him while he was sleeping, but Peter thinks he'd better offer an apology anyway, just in case.

"Morning," he says. "Sorry, I just thought it probably wouldn't make any difference to you whether I slept in the bed with you or not," he says, perhaps too honestly.

Carl chuckles. "I suppose not, I slept just fine," he says. "And it's your bed, of course you're entitled to sleep in it. It was very kind of you to let me into it at all, given the circumstances."

"You're welcome," Peter says breezily. "You'll be a perfect house guest - you won't need to shower, or eat, or drink. Which is good, because I don't really have much food."

Carl laughs. "I'm glad I won't inconvenience you too much," he says dryly. "But I might trouble you to smoke another cigarette."

Peter is happy to oblige with that one. They both get up and go down to the kitchen, where Peter puts the kettle on as he smokes. 

"Hey, you know you were in my dream," he says, eager to tell. "You were performing, on a stage in a big hall-"

"-Like an old theatre?" Carl interrupts, and Peter looks at him, hairs prickling the back of his neck.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "The stage was really low, and I was right off to the-"

"-Right hand side," Carl supplies again, his eyes wide. 

Peter nods. He was going to say left hand side, but he supposes from the point of view of someone on the stage, it would be the right. "OK this is a bit weird," he says. Was he somehow in the audience at a gig many years ago where Carl saw him, and he's suddenly unlocked a repressed memory from another lifetime? Is Peter himself a time traveller, a reincarnation, or did he have a doppelganger? He doesn't even know what to ask to try to find out.

"I had the same dream!" Carl exclaims, while Peter is still trying to process his thoughts. "I was playing a show, and you were there, in the audience."

Peter is actually relieved that that is the least weird available explanation, though it's still pretty weird. But in a way that doesn't feel bad at all. It feels… special. Like he's discovering he has a superpower. 

"That's amazing," he breathes. "How can that happen?" he wonders, though he doesn't expect Carl to have an answer any more than he does.

"I don't know," says Carl, as expected. "But it must mean something. Maybe it will become apparent."

"Maybe it'll happen again," Peter says excitedly. He hopes it does, and he rather gets the sense Carl does too. Peter agrees with him, it must mean something, something important. 

"How can dead people dream, anyway," muses Carl. "That was another surprise."

Peter shrugs. "How do living people dream, for that matter," he says. "We're all the same in dreams."

"Maybe that's the secret," murmurs Carl.

Peter is usually a fairly nocturnal person, who doesn't need much sleep, but he can't wait to sleep again tonight.

After another cup of tea and some characteristic faffing around, Peter is finally ready to leave for London. 

“Are you ready to go?” he asks Carl.

Carl raises his eyebrows. “Well, yes,” he says. “It’s remarkably freeing in some ways, this being a ghost thing. Don’t need to think about food or drinks, don’t need to put a coat on, don’t need to piss. Ready for anything, any time.”

Peter chuckles. “Yes, of course,” he says. “But are you, y’know, emotionally ready?”

Carl looks a bit surprised at that. “I hadn’t thought I wasn’t,” he says. “Shouldn’t I be? You’ve made me doubt myself!

Peter laughs and rolls his eyes. “Just get in the car,” he says. He opens all the doors, so Carl doesn’t have to just pass through them - it can’t hurt him to do that, but it still weirds Peter out a bit. 

“Do you want to listen to some of your own tunes?” he asks, setting up his bluetooth while Carl watches like he’s in a sci-fi movie. 

Carl shakes his head. “I think I might’ve had enough of that for now,” he says. “Catch me up on what’s been happening since 1987.”

Peter selects a suitable playlist, feeling pretty confident his taste will match Carl’s, from the clues he's picked up so far, and starts to reverse the car out of the drive and onto the lane. But as soon as the car is completely out of the drive, Peter gets the strangest sensation, and a full body shiver runs through him. He blinks, and suddenly, when he looks through the windscreen at his house in front of him, he notices Carl is standing there. An even more unpleasant shiver goes through him, and he does a little scream when he looks at the passenger seat beside him and sees that it's empty. 

"What the hell!" he exclaims, unnerved to the point of mild terror. He drives back up to the house, and gets out of the car.

"What just happened?!" he asks Carl. 

"I don't know!" says Carl, sounding just as freaked out as Peter is. "One minute I was in the car, the next I was just… here, watching you!"

"I didn't notice you disappear, and I didn't notice you re-appear, it was like I just noticed you'd been here all along," Peter says. "That was even weirder than seeing you walking through the wall!"

"It felt fucking weird as well!" says Carl. "Like I got knocked out and then immediately woke up again, but in a different place. Very disorienting," he explains with a shudder. 

“Shall we give it another go?” asks Peter. He has no idea what happened, but after the past twenty four hours he’s getting used to things happening that are outside his comprehension.

“Yes let’s,” Carl agrees, and they get back in the car.

They repeat the same process, though Peter decides to turn the car round on the driveway and go out onto the lane forwards this time. Maybe ghosts don’t like travelling in reverse or something, he reasons. But as soon as the car is off the drive, he gets the same sensation, and he knows what must’ve happened. The passenger seat is empty beside him again, and when he looks in the rear view mirror, he sees Carl standing outside the house, just like before. 

Starting to feel defeated, Peter reverses back up the drive and gets out of the car. 

“I dunno what’s going on, but it’s not happening is it?” he says, mystified. “Do you want to maybe try walking down there? See if that makes any difference.”

Carl walks down the drive, but, as Peter rather suspected, as soon as he steps off the property and onto the public road, he… ceases to be visible. It’s not exactly that Peter sees him disappear, it’s more as if Peter has blinked, and when he opens his eyes Carl has moved out of sight. It’s a very unsettling feeling of disconnect between his eyes and his brain, but ultimately the result is the same - Carl is right back beside him, outside the house, and Peter didn’t see the moment when he reappeared, it was just like he suddenly noticed he was there again.

"Do you think… maybe you can't leave the grounds of the house? That you're tied here somehow?" Peter wonders.

"That would make sense," Carl says slowly. "As soon as I get over the boundary, it just throws me back inside again somehow."

"Fuck," says Peter sadly. "I'm sorry. I guess you can't come and see London one last time."

"Yeah, that's a bastard," sighs Carl. "I was kind of looking forward to showing you some of my old haunts. Haunts!" he repeats, chuckling. “I guess that’s here more than anywhere,” he says, and Peter giggles at the pun too.

"Is there anywhere in particular you want me to go? That you think might jog your memory," Peter offers. "I can go and take some photographs. I was thinking I could go to venues where you played shows, places you liked to go, places people reported seeing you, that kind of thing."

"That's very kind of you," Carl says, and he sounds genuinely touched. "That might help, it's worth a try. Can you find out those places on your little gadget thingy?" he asks, gesturing at Peter's phone.

"Yes! And I can take photos on it too," Peter tells him. "Tried to take one of you yesterday, but it didn't work," he admits sheepishly.

Carl chuckles. "I wish that had been the case sometimes when I was alive too," he says.

"Oh!" Peter says as a thought strikes him. He unlocks the door to the house and goes back in. "Shall I put on the TV, or some music for you before I go?"

"That would be good, thank you," says Carl. "But choose wisely, because I won't be able to turn it off. Or on the other hand, if you don't want me haunting you anymore, you could choose something terrible to drive me off."

Peter laughs. "Is exorcism really that easy?" he asks rhetorically. "But I don't want you to go," he says honestly. "I'm intrigued to find out what happened to you. I want to help you find out."

"Thank you," says Carl simply. "I'm just glad I'm not a nuisance for you."

"Not even slightly," Peter says. "Meeting you has already enriched my life greatly," he tells Carl with a shy smile. 

"I'd say mine too, but y'know," Carl says with a wry shrug. "It's definitely enriched my afterlife, more than I could ever have imagined, even if I knew I was going to have one."

Peter feels very flattered and uplifted by that. He really hopes he can help Carl find out the truth - though he also rather hopes he doesn't just disappear after he does. That would be a real disappointment, especially if it happens so soon. But he's promised to help now, so he'll have to cross the bridge if he comes to it.

He turns on the TV. "What channel do you want? I'm leaving it up to you so you can't blame me."

Carl looks thoughtful. "Is that Australian soap opera Neighbours still on?" he asks, a little timidly.

Peter almost laughs. He wasn't expecting that. "It is," he says.

"Then whatever channel that's on," Carl says decisively.

"I can do even better," Peter says, getting out his computer. "Look, you can watch tons of episodes online," he says. "I can even cast it to the TV for you." He knows Carl won't have a clue what he's talking about, and he hopes he doesn't ask him to explain, but fortunately Carl is happy enough to just gratefully accept the fruits of modern technology. 

So, rather later than anticipated, but that's nothing new in Peter's life, he's ready to finally set off to London. He doesn't even really want to go anymore if he can’t go with Carl. He'd much rather stay here and find out more about him and watch cheesy Australian soaps with him, but if he doesn't go and clear out the rest of his stuff from his mate's house he's going to kill him and/or burn it all, and there's some stuff he really wants to hang onto. Probably. Peter usually likes to hang onto everything he can, or at least he tries to, until he loses it in the fullness of time. He at least wants to find out what's there. He has the space for all his belongings now, in his new house.

Now Carl isn't with him, he decides to take the chance to familiarise himself more with his musical back catalogue. He listens to all Carl’s albums in order, and he gets to London just about as soon as he gets to the end. Much to his friend's amazement, he manages to load all his stuff into his car relatively quickly and efficiently. No one would expect either of those things from Peter usually, but today he has an extra mission. As soon as he's got everything, he sets off into the city on foot and by tube and bus - he might want to help Carl, but not to the extent of driving to and parking in multiple places across London. 

Lots of people reported seeing Carl all over London in the weeks, months and even years since he disappeared - he’s compiled a list of places he saw mentioned on the fan forum and in old newspaper reports, like Vallance Road, Princelet Street, Caledonian Road, Rochester Square, Percy Circus, Waterloo. It's a fun mission, Peter thinks as he zips about - he feels like a spy, though not a very furtive one, as he gets to each location, wanders about a bit, takes a few pictures of features he thinks might not have changed much since 1987, then moves on to the next one. 

At least most of them are in a couple of clusters, not too far apart, but it's the last one, Waterloo, that's both a drag to get to, and also more vague. Does it mean the station? The whole area? He decides to cover as much ground as he can - after all, he does enjoy strolling around London, and he doesn't often come to this part of town, so he might see some things he's never seen before.

The inside of the station is, of course, very different to how it would've looked in 1987, but Peter takes photos of the clock and some of the architecture over the shop fronts, and the exterior. He walks the short distance down Waterloo Road to the Old Vic, and takes some photos there, though it's changed pretty noticeably over the last 30 years too. He potters around the Southbank Centre, which, rather pleasingly for Peter's purposes, looks just as threateningly Brutalist today as it did in 1987. He takes some photos of Waterloo Bridge from the south bank, then heads into the bridge itself, to take some views of the Thames and the bridge as a pedestrian would see it. Again he can't help but think, it would be easy for a person to jump - or fall - from here without being seen or ever being found, but there's probably a lot more less obvious possibilities too, and he must be careful not to give Carl any false memories for the sake of giving him any memories at all. 

At last he's satisfied with the data he's gathered, and he heads back to pick up his car full of stuff, and sets off back to Marlborough. It's dark by the time he gets back, but as he approaches the house he can still see the glow of the TV inside.

"Have you been sitting here watching Neighbours all day?!" he asks in amusement when he finds Carl sitting on the sofa, rapt.

"I had a lot to catch up on!" Carl retorts. "And besides, it's not really important for me to move about or anything now, is it? Haven't got any blood to circulate or muscles to strengthen. That's another positive about being dead - I can finally be as lazy as I've ever wanted to be."

Peter laughs. "When you put it like that, it sounds quite appealing," he says. "I wish you had a corporeal form right now so you could help me bring in some of these boxes."

"Sorry," Carl says, but he doesn't even try to hide his smirk. 

It doesn't take Peter that long to bring in his stuff anyway, and when he's dumped the boxes haphazardly anywhere there's space, he sits down on the sofa next to Carl. 

Peter watches the TV quietly with him for several minutes before he eventually speaks.

"I took some photos in London," he says, trying to sound as casual as he can. "Do you want to see them?"

Carl hesitates. "Maybe I'll just watch another episode or two first," he says. 

Peter understands. It might be quite a daunting prospect, to suddenly and unavoidably be prompted into recalling your own demise. Peter can see why he might want to put it off a bit longer, try to prepare himself. 

"After all," Carl goes on after a moment. "I'd hate to go towards the light and be irreversibly banished from this realm without getting up to date on the soaps."

Peter laughs. Carl really is a funny, witty guy. Peter can tell he probably is a little nervous about deeper things than that, but he admires his ability to joke about it, even after such a short period of adjustment to his new state of being. 

"I'm sure there'll be soaps in heaven. And also hell, according to a lot of people," Peter offers back, and he feels very pleased when Carl laughs too.

"That's probably fair, but I enjoy them," he says. "Which probably means they wouldn't be in hell for me. Shame," he says resignedly.

Peter pauses for just a second before he can't help but naturally ask, "Do you believe in it? Heaven and hell and all of that."

"Nah," says Carl immediately. "Do you?"

"Not really, not since I was a kid," Peter says, and he kind of laughs to himself that their discussion of such deep theological matters lasted under ten seconds. He supposes Carl can't be afraid of eternal retribution at least, but the possibility of leaping into the void must hold at least a little trepidation. Or leaping back into the void, when he's only just found his way out of it.

"Can you tell me something?" asks Carl, sounding a lot more serious than he did when they were talking about religion and the afterlife. "What happened to Scott and Charlene? Are they OK? Did they live happily ever after?"

Peter can't help but laugh, it's just so endearing. "What's the last thing you remember happening?"

"They were about to get married," recalls Carl. "Did that happen?"

"Oh yes, it was a huge thing," Peter says, glad he's at least able to answer that. "But I'm afraid I'd have to look up what happened to them after that."

Carl looks at him expectantly, so Peter gets out his phone, chuckling, and Googles 'Scott and Charlene's wedding', letting Carl read the Wikipedia page for himself. 

“Aww, they settled down in Brisbane and had kids, that’s a satisfactory outcome,” Carl says happily. “I guess I can die happy now,” he says dryly, making Peter laugh again. 

They watch for a while longer, and even though Peter probably last watched this show at about the same time as Carl did, it’s very easy to get drawn back in. Carl is all too happy to share what he’s gathered through watching for the last eight hours, and Peter is greatly enjoying his commentary, and his company as well. Carl is a very easy person to be around, and Peter feels very relaxed and like he can be himself with him. When he decided to buy a house for himself, Peter had thought he was tired of housemates and sharing spaces, but Carl seems to be the perfect fit. It’s easy to forget that he’s, well, a ghost. 

Eventually Carl looks away from the TV screen and says to Peter, “Come on then, let’s have a look at these photos.”

Peter’s stomach does a little flip. It really feels like this could be quite momentous - Carl might be on the verge of recalling the most significant memory of all, the answer to one of the biggest questions they have - and one that would surely be of interest to the wider world too. 

Or, of course, maybe it’ll reveal nothing at all, and Carl will be left wondering a bit longer. 

Only one way to find out, though, and Peter opens the last picture in his gallery to show Carl. He’s starting at the end of his journey, with the river and the bridge, and Carl is watching intently. He scrolls slowly through the photos, lingering over each one, and he's barely got through three or four of them before he notices Carl is becoming agitated. He's staring at the screen with an intense look of focus on his face, brow furrowed and lips pressed tightly together. He brings both hands to his face and rubs his eyes, and Peter senses something is happening.

"Waterloo Bridge," Carl murmurs. "Yeah, that's… That feels important."

Peter is quiet, letting Carl think for a minute. "Do you think maybe you... fell?" he asks eventually, wondering if asking some questions will help Carl's thoughts crystallise.

Carl shakes his head. "Not… not from the bridge," he says slowly. "But the river, the river is important, just around there," he goes on, his voice becoming more animated as he continues. "The river, in the dark. The lights on the bridge, and on the south bank, I could see them. From a boat!" he exclaims, and now the words can't come fast enough. "There was a party, on a boat, on the Thames. After the gig. Not a big fancy millionaire boat, just some crappy thing you could hire for cheap. I remember I didn't know anyone else on it, I must've just talked my way into the party. I was probably just going around talking at people obnoxiously and drinking the free booze. And climbing on bits I shouldn't've been climbing on. And, inevitably… splash," he finishes, with a sad, ashamed look on his face. "How ignominious," he says bitterly. "I would've much preferred to have been murdered."

Peter frowns. "But surely someone would've noticed you fall," he points out.

"Everyone was completely smashed," Carl says. "And no one on the boat knew who I was, and no one not on the boat knew I was there. No one was keeping an eye on me, and god knows I needed them to, even on dry land," he admits.

It is all starting to sound unfortunately plausible to Peter. And, just like he thought when he first found out about Carl's disappearance, it was the 80s. No one cared about safety standards or checks, especially not on the river - the _Marchioness_ disaster hadn't even happened yet, Peter thinks grimly. And the Thames is such a wide expanse of water that finding anyone in it - especially back then - would rely on a certain amount of luck. 

But before he can start feeling too melancholy about Carl's rather bathetic demise, a realisation hits him. 

"You're still here!" he exclaims. "You didn't just fade away, or twinkle out into another dimension, once you remembered how you passed away." 

Carl looks surprised too. "No, I didn't, did I?" he says, a relieved smile starting to dawn across his face. "Looks like I might be here to stay at least a bit longer. Sorry," he says, but he doesn't really look sorry at all, and Peter can’t blame him.

"I'm glad," Peter says without hesitating. "I was worried you'd just come back here to try and figure out what happened to you, then you wouldn't have any more reason to hang around."

"I guess I do," Carl says, smiling. "And besides, I might have found out how I died, but I still have no idea how or why I came back."

Peter has honestly no idea how they're going to figure that out, but after the success they've already had, he's keen to try. “Maybe you have another sort of mission to complete,” he ponders.

“Maybe a portal opened up and I somehow fell through it,” Carl offers. “But none of the other former owners of this house did as well, so maybe it’s just something to do with me. Or you,” he says, meeting Peter’s gaze. “After all, I only got here when you did.”

Peter feels his heart beat a little faster, and the hair stands up on the back of his neck. Not in a bad way at all - he feels excited, special even, at the thought of being at the heart of this supernatural mystery. He doesn’t even really mind if it never gets solved. It’s all part of life’s rich tapestry after all, hanging out in his tumbledown old house in the country with only his resident ghost for company. He’s extremely happy for Carl to stick around with him, whether he has any higher purpose or not.

"You know, I watched something last night when I was looking for more information. A documentary," Peter remembers, already looking for it again on his laptop. "About you."

"Me?!" Carl sounds genuinely surprised. "I dread to think what made its way into that."

"No, no, it was lovely," says Peter earnestly. "Lots of people who loved you, all saying nice things. It was genuinely touching," he explains. “I think it’d do you good to watch it. I promise.”

He starts playing the documentary, and looks at Carl as unobtrusively as he can as he watches it. He wonders if he should maybe leave the room, in case Carl feels self-conscious or embarrassed, but he wants to be there to see how he reacts, and to hear if he has any comments as they go along. But Carl just watches quietly, almost like he wants them both to forget they're watching something that's entirely about himself. Peter worries that he’s uncomfortable, or even upset, and when the programme is over, he’s obviously emotional. But before Peter can apologise or ask if he’s OK, Carl breaks his silence. 

"Thank you for showing me that," Carl says, his voice still quiet and contemplative. "It's quite strange, hearing people say all these nice things about your work, whether or not I believe it all myself. It's just good to know it was all worth it, that it meant something to people I suppose. I feel really very moved, and honoured that all those people wanted to be involved. It's actually a surprisingly pleasant experience, to be able to hear your own eulogy," he finishes with a smile.

Peter smiles too, relieved and somewhat touched himself that Carl got something out of it. "You should definitely be proud, that you touched so many lives, and created things that people still love so much, after all this time," he says. "And all your music is online now, you must be getting new fans all the time. Music from all eras is a lot more accessible to everyone now," he explains. 

Carl looks like he's not even sure he can believe that, but Peter supposes that's at least partly the culture shock of being suddenly exposed to all this new technology and media. It might take a while for him to get his head around it, just like it does for a lot of living people of Carl’s generation, Peter thinks with amusement, but also affection. That's something Peter will have to get used to, for his part - the fact that Carl is actually from an entirely different generation, despite them seeming quite similar in age. So far though, Carl has adjusted remarkably well. Peter supposes he never really had a normal life, so this must be just another diverting adventure, just like it is for Peter. 

Carl insists they watch a few more episodes of Neighbours, to lighten the mood again, but then it's bedtime. They go up to Peter's room at the same time tonight, both just easily accepting that that's the arrangement - after all, it worked fine last night, so there's no reason to do anything different. Peter actually feels a little butterfly flutter in his stomach as he lies down beside Carl, wondering if he'll meet him in his dreams again tonight. He really hopes so - it felt meaningful, like it’s leading them somewhere that feels important, and Peter wants to follow.

He does dream again. He's elated to realise he's back in the same hall, knowing he’s waiting for Carl again. His heart speeds up perceptibly, and he makes a mental note to try and remember to buy a Fitbit or something so he can monitor his heart rate in his sleep, and any other important vital signs. He's delighted to be here again, it's a promising start, but he also hopes it's not going to be just the same as last night, replayed again. That would be frustrating, and probably just deepen the mystery going on in so many directions.

Carl appears on the stage a lot more quickly tonight, and Peter feels a lot more confident this time, determined to get his attention and make more of it, see where it goes next. 

Carl looks right at him almost straight away, and Peter's stomach flips like a real fanboy. 

"This song's for a guy who's been a really good friend to me, even though we haven't known each other long," Carl says from the stage.

Peter knows with the inevitability of a dream just where this is going, and he feels so giddy with anticipation that he can't help but grin like an idiot.

"Peter," says Carl, pointing at him with a beringed finger. "Why don't you come up here and sing with me?"

Peter's jaw drops. He'd been prepared for Carl to say his name, but not to be invited up onto the stage! But Peter, flattered and thrilled and compelled by circumstance, doesn't hesitate for more than a second. The crowd cheer for him, slapping him on the back as he pushes through them to the stage. Just like last night, it's not far off the ground, so it's easy for Carl to reach down and help him up onto it. Carl starts to play, a song Peter knows pretty well now, after he listened to it a few times in the car today, but in the dream he knows it perfectly, and they share the mic as they sing it together, their noses brushing and cheeks touching and even their lips, wet and salty with spit and sweat, meeting for a split second. Peter is energised, envigorated, euphoric, and then the song ends and Carl puts his guitar aside and hugs him, and Peter realises that, here, they can _touch_. He can put his arms around Carl and feel the slightness of his body, he could feel the warmth of his skin against his own as they sang, he can press his lips into Carl's hair and kiss him with the sheer joy of the culmination of the moment. 

And then, inevitably, he wakes up. He opens his eyes and Carl is awake too, and looking right at him. They stare at each other for a minute, a little shyly, obviously both wondering who’s going to broach the topic first, but eventually Peter can’t stop the grin that’s spreading across his face.

“That was fun,” he says. “Maybe I’ve missed my calling.”

“You’re a good singer,” murmurs Carl, smiling. 

“It was kind of exhilarating, being up there with you,” Peter muses. “It felt… natural.”

“It did to me too,” says Carl eagerly. “And it’s strange, when you were there with me I didn’t feel nearly as scared or nervous as I usually would onstage. Even when I used to dream about performing, I would still be scared, maybe even more than in real life. But with you, I felt so much more relaxed. Somehow it was reassuring having you there. Even though people were still looking at me, it felt so much easier to deal with because they were looking at… us. Together.”

Peter, always easily moved to tears, is so touched by that he worries he might start to well up. He smiles though, because that fills him with genuine joy. "The only times I've ever sung in public were when I was showing off as a kid," he admits. "But in the dream it all made perfect sense, like dreams always do. It felt right." Even more than that, it felt pre-determined, like Peter wasn't in complete control of what was happening, but at the same time, he knows he could have resisted, and the dream wouldn't have taken him where it wanted against his will. He was happy to do the things laid out for him in the dream, it was what he wanted, even though he hadn't thought about it before. He knows very clearly that that's true. And now he's awake again, he knows he'd happily do it again.


	2. Chapter 2

The thrilling feeling of the dream doesn't leave him all day. It felt so right, so good, to be up there with Carl, to be so close to Carl, to be able to touch Carl, and most of all, to see Carl looking so pleased and happy to see him. That really does give him a pleasant glow inside, and every time he looks at Carl, and especially when their eyes meet, it reignites a little. 

After a leisurely morning, including drinking several cups of tea, and smoking several cigarettes, for Carl as much as himself, after lunch he starts doing a bit more unpacking. He has way more books than he has shelves to hold them, so he prioritises some favourites and some new unread additions, stacking the rest on the floor. Rather to Peter's delight, Carl seems keen to hang around with him, examining his books and passing regular approving comments. Peter is surprised again, that his resident rockstar has such wide and sophisticated literary tastes, but then, he supposes he should've guessed that from the names of his cats.

(Which reminds Peter, he needs to buy cat food next time he's shopping, to put out for Beaudelaire and Genet’s descendants, just like he promised Carl.)

"I'm going to miss reading books too," Carl sighs. "Are there still things like books on tape, or serialisations on the radio?"

"Oh yes, there's plenty of audio books out there, I can find you some of those," Peter says kindly. "Or if you want, I can always read something to you," he offers, a little more shyly. "If you see anything you want me to read in my collection, just ask."

Carl smiles, touched. "That would be lovely, thank you," he says sincerely.

When Peter is done with the books, he thinks he should start on the suitcases full of clothes, another not insubstantial task. Carl carries on watching him curiously - Peter would think maybe he was assessing fashion development over the thirty years he's been gone, but a lot of Peter's clothes were probably made in Carl's lifetime, or might have been considered old fashioned even then. If he's judging Peter for any of his mod gear though, he politely doesn't say anything. 

At the bottom of the first suitcase is one of Peter's jewellery boxes. He's relieved to see it, because he wasn't quite sure he could remember where any of his collections had ended up, in the packing chaos, and he opens it up to check on the contents. 

"Aha," he says, picking out the ring that's nestled right on the top, just as he hoped. He slides it onto the little finger of his left hand, the only finger it fits. He holds his hand out in front of him, fingers spread, to admire it, and he hears Carl make a soft sound beside him.

"Where did you get that ring?" Carl asks, still staring at Peter's hand, his eyes wide.

"I picked it up in an antique shop not long ago," Peter says fondly. "Not far from here, actually, when I came up to look at the house. I collect a lot of antiques, but this really drew me to it, I knew right away I had to buy it. And that same day, I decided to buy the house. It felt like a perfect piece to commentate the occasion," he explains, smiling at the warmth of the memory. 

"You're not going to believe this," Carl says, his voice sounding hoarse, even though that's impossible. "But that ring belonged to me."

Peter feels a shiver run through him, but again, it's a thrilling sensation, not one of fear or foreboding. "You're joking," he says, though he doesn't believe for a second that Carl is.

"I'm not!" Carl stresses. "It was mine, but…” He frowns. “I’ve forgotten what happened to it. Or maybe I just haven’t remembered yet. I loved that ring though, it was an old family item, my grandma gave it to me. I'm so pleased to see it again, I can't even tell you," he says, and Peter can see the emotion of it in his expression. He wishes he could hug Carl now too, like he could in their dream, wishes they could connect physically, as human beings, at a moment like this.

"I'm even more glad I bought it now," Peter murmurs. "I felt so strongly about it, as soon as I laid eyes on it," he says honestly. "It felt meaningful."

Carl nods. "I think this must all mean something, don't you?" he says softly. "That you have it, and you're here, and now so am I."

Cogs turn quickly in Peter's head. "You think that… the ring brought you here? When I brought the ring back, it allowed you to come back too?"

Carl's eyes light up. "Yes, I think that's exactly it," he says in a rush. "But even more than that, I think it had to be you," he adds earnestly. "The ring drew you to it, because it was drawing you to me."

The hairs stand up on the back of Peter's neck again, but he is absolutely ready to believe that. After the last couple of days, nothing really seems unbelievable anymore, and Peter was already pretty good at believing in things others might scorn. 

"I think you're right," Peter agrees wholeheartedly. "I had to have the ring, because I was supposed to meet you." He looks into Carl's eyes. "I'm glad I could bring it back to you. And I'm glad I could bring you back to it," he says, with a bashful smile. 

Carl smiles right back at him. "It's yours now," he says firmly. He looks at the ring, settled on Peter's finger, and laughs a little. "It's a lot smaller on you than on me," he says, stating the obvious. "I used to wear it on the ring finger of my right hand," he says. 

"Maybe I can go back to the shop and ask them if they know anything about it, or they can tell me how they got it. To help you remember what happened to it. Maybe it was there for years, just waiting for me to come in and find it." Peter rather likes the romance of that idea.

"I wonder," says Carl. "Yeah, you should go and find out," he adds decisively. 

It's already too late to go today, but Peter resolves to go tomorrow. It might not go anywhere, but it's worth a try, and he might even pick himself up some new bits and pieces for the house. 

He orders himself a pizza for dinner, and Carl watches mournfully as he eats it. 

"That's another thing I'll miss - melted cheese," he says wistfully. 

Peter laughs. "Well, at least you might be able to see and smell it here often. I'm not much of a cook," he admits. 

"Me neither," Carl says. "I got myself a microwave when I moved into this place, and that really changed my life. Before that the only things I ever cooked for myself were cheese on toast, beans on toast, or just toast. And even those were on pretty rare occasions."

Peter giggles. That's about his range, too. When he has to fend for himself, he mostly lives on sandwiches. Tomorrow, when he goes to the antique shop, he'll find the nearest supermarket too, and buy himself some ready meals to go in the freezer. And if he remembers the cat food, he thinks, at least he'll have an emergency back up meal plan.

For the rest of the evening, Peter lets Carl experience some modern TV. He's delighted to see that so many soaps are still ongoing, but he seems genuinely saddened that Top of the Pops no longer exists. Peter spends some time holding forth about the state of music culture and the music industry today, and he's actually grateful to have a receptive audience for once - most of his mates roll their eyes at Peter's rants and ramblings about his pet topics, but Carl seems fully engaged, and like he completely understands, even though it must all be well outside of his own experience. Carl is an intelligent guy, and Peter finds his company and his conversation entertaining and interesting - how lucky, he thinks, to not get haunted by a ghost who's vapid or annoying. 

As the evening goes on though, Peter starts to look forward to going to sleep. There's no point going to bed early and just lying there awake, but he's feeling impatient, he just wants to feel sleepy so he can hurry up and dream. He adds chamomile tea to his mental shopping list for tomorrow, and decides to cut out caffeine after 3pm. He's never been an early sleeper, but he's never had this much of an incentive to try before.

Eventually it's an acceptable time to go to bed, and he and Carl make their way up together. They don't talk about it before they get into Peter's bed, but as they're settling down to sleep, Peter can't resist saying "See you soon", and he hears Carl chuckle and murmur it back at him.

For a short while he worries he might be too excited to sleep, which would be ironic and frustrating, but soon enough he drifts off, and it isn't long before he finds himself in a place that's becoming familiar to him.

The gig is over now, and Peter is lingering, trying not to get caught up in the crowd and pushed out of the venue too quickly. He wanders out into the corridor, and follows it until he gets to a set of doors that very obviously lead backstage. There's no one around, which surprises Peter, even though it's a dream, but because it is, he feels emboldened, he knows exactly what he's doing. It's all perfectly clear, and he's going to trust the dream to lead him, just like it did last night. 

He pushes through the doors, and there's another corridor, this time with several doors off it to either side, and he takes a few slow steps, knowing that behind one of these doors will be Carl, like a chocolate in an advent calendar. But he doesn't even need to start knocking or turning knobs, because after only a few moments of wondering, one of the doors opens from the inside, and it's Carl, smiling and looking straight at him. He doesn't look at all surprised to see him, but of course, he wouldn't be. This is already what they've come to expect.

"I was just looking for you," Carl murmurs, and the way he says it makes Peter shiver with delight. Peter takes a few steps towards him, and Carl reaches out and grabs his wrist and pulls him into the room with him, closing the door behind them.

Peter's heart skips, feeling a particular thrill at being here, almost like he really is a fan of Carl's and he's found his way backstage. 

"It was a great show," Peter says, knowing that it was, even though the only part he's actually experienced was the part he was involved in. But he loved it, and he remembers again the warmth of Carl's skin against his, the feeling as they hugged - he wants to do it again. So he does, because Carl is still smiling at him and it feels right, it feels celebratory, and it feels like a natural continuation of the euphoria he felt last night.

He puts his arms around Carl and Carl does the same, hugging Peter so tightly he feels like a cherished friend, someone Carl is genuinely glad to see and to be around. He's still wearing his leather jacket, and he feels so warm in Peter's arms, it's so comfortable and feels so good that Peter never wants to let go. Especially because he knows he can't just do this whenever he wants, in the waking world. 

Eventually Carl pulls back a little, though he doesn't move away from Peter or let his arms drop from around him - he keeps his left arm around Peter in a loose embrace, but he raises his right hand to Peter's face, cupping his cheek warmly.

"I'm so glad you're here," Carl says sincerely, and Peter's stomach does an excited flip. He feels open and malleable, like everything is flowing perfectly and just carrying him along as a willing passenger, and it's the most obvious and natural thing in the world when Carl leans up and kisses him, full and warm on the mouth.

The kiss is not at all unexpected, but the tenderness in it is. Peter thought kissing a hot rockstar backstage at a gig would be all messy, adrenaline-fuelled passion, wet and sloppy and all over the place. But Carl kisses him like a lover, like he means it, and Peter falls deeper into it in no time at all. Carl is an amazing kisser - maybe it’s because it’s a dream, and everything is a little idealised, but even if it isn’t, Peter supposes Carl probably has a lot of kissing practice. He’s certainly the most attractive person Peter has ever kissed, and Peter can’t deny that gives him an extra feeling of excitement, that this cool, handsome, famous guy is kissing him with such care and intent. The dream isn’t letting him down one bit, it's more than he could ever have expected, and just like the night before, with the concert, Peter is just carried away with it, caught up in the moment and enjoying every second. Peter feels like he's in an upbeat romantic movie, and he's getting to snog the handsome main character. When they're in the dream world, everything just seems to fall into Peter's lap, it all happens exactly as it should, even if he didn't see it coming. He's just following the storyline, and from what's happening now, he can't wait to see what's coming up next.

His heart is beating faster now as Carl kisses him, it's such a giddy feeling, like he hasn't felt in years. It's fun and exciting and flattering and Peter is starting to feel bolder, he wants to explore a little bit. He slides his hands down Carl's back and under his jacket, under the tank top he's wearing under it, feeling the heat from his skin, and the smoothness of it. Carl seems encouraged by his touch, his hands sliding up into Peter's hair to keep him where he wants him, and Peter melts, just wanting more of it. His hands skate down Carl's back again, over his waistband and down to cup his arse and give it a cheeky squeeze. It's a dream, Peter reminds himself, might as well make the most of it. 

Sadly though, dreams have to end, and, just like before, not necessarily at a logical place, or with a natural ending. One minute Peter is kissing Carl wholeheartedly and thoroughly, the next he's blinking at him as they lie facing each other in Peter's bed. Peter feels a bit frustrated that it's over for another night, but that can't really dampen his buoyant mood. Kissing Carl was just so enjoyable that Peter feels an unshakeable happiness that he knows he's going to revel in all day. 

"Morning," he says, feeling his cheeks turn warm. He feels like they're waking up after a particularly successful one night stand, and he doesn’t want to ruin it by saying the wrong thing. "That was nice," he says, with a shy smile.

Carl smiles back at him, looking relieved at Peter’s positive reaction. "It was, wasn't it," he agrees. "I'm glad you thought so too."

Peter giggles, that giddy dream feeling lingering in his consciousness. “Where did that come from,” he mumbles. Now he’s awake he feels a little embarrassed by how much he enjoyed it, but as long as Carl did too, he can’t feel at all sorry that it happened. 

“I dunno,” Carl murmurs. “But it seemed right at the time - didn’t it?” he says, looking suddenly troubled, as if he’s unwittingly taken advantage of Peter, even though he’s just said how much he liked it. 

“It did,” says Peter, and he’s quite serious. “In these dreams, everything that happens feels like it’s exactly what’s supposed to happen.”

“Exactly,” Carl agrees, without hesitation. “It felt so clear and so simple, so I just… went for it,” he says, smiling a little sheepishly.

Peter thinks it’s rather adorable that Carl is so much shyer in the waking world than the cool, confident rockstar he is in their dreams. “Did you… ever think about doing that when you were awake?” he can’t resist asking, though he immediately worries he’s put Carl on the spot.

“I don’t know,” says Carl. “I suppose it might have crossed my mind,” he confesses. If ghosts could blush, Peter gets the impression Carl would be right now. “Dreams come from somewhere, after all. But I knew it could never happen, so it would only be an idle thought."

"But it did happen though," Peter points out. "We were both there. We both wanted it to happen. It happened."

"Yeah," says Carl, nodding with a faint smile. "Yeah, it did." He pauses a moment, then blurts out, "What about you? Did you think about it at all?"

"I didn't, not really," admits Peter. He'd certainly thought Carl was attractive, and noticed his charms as he watched those old videos. But anything physical hadn't really occurred to him. "But I definitely will now," he adds with a grin, because it's true. He certainly won't forget how it felt, he's sure of that. 

That makes Carl smile more, and they both chuckle a little, still lying there on Peter's bed. 

“So… I guess we just have to wait and see what happens tonight,” Carl says tentatively. 

Peter nods eagerly. He really is keen to see what might be coming next - it's like being in their own soap, and they’re just waiting for the next instalment. At the same time, he knows they have the power to shape it - but that it’s shaping them, too. Peter might not have thought about kissing Carl before the dream - like Carl pointed out, it was rather moot, under the circumstances. But now they've done it, in some dimension, it seems like the most obvious thing in the world to think about and to want, and Peter can't imagine why he wouldn't. 

Eventually, and rather reluctantly, they get up, because Peter has the next phase of his mission to complete. He leaves Carl with the TV on in the living room, a Spotify playlist in the dining room, and YouTube on in the bedroom, so he has a choice of entertainment, and heads off to the supermarket first. As he picks up cheese and eggs and frozen lasagne (and cat food), he can't stop his thoughts revolving back to Carl, of the way he kissed and held Peter, the way he looked at him, so focussed and intent. But even though the cool, dream Carl has caught his attention, he also thinks again about how much he enjoys the company of real Carl too - well, as real as a ghost can be. Peter supposes the Carl in their dreams is more real than the one Peter knows in his real, waking life, because the dream Carl is the one who’s tangible, that he can touch and… kiss. 

After he’s completed the mundane half of his task, he gets to move on to the far more interesting part of his day. A part of him honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the antique shop where he bought the ring isn’t even there anymore, and the building all boarded up - or even, just an empty site where it was only a few months ago. But, when he arrives, he finds it still looks just the same as he remembers, with big cast iron fire surrounds leaning against the wall outside, and a window full of brass coal scuttles and grandfather clocks. The interior is stuffed full of items that Peter could spend hours poring over, but he resists the temptation today - he has a mission, and once he’s completed it, he needs to report his findings back to Carl. That’s motivation enough for him to do what he came here for. 

Luckily, the same old man is here who sold Peter the ring. Peter knows how this works anyway - the owners of these types of shops never forget a piece. He’ll have the receipt book filed neatly in his desk drawer for sure, and be able to remember what kind of hat Peter was wearing on the day.

“Hello,” says Peter. “I was hoping you might be able to help me find out a bit more about this ring that I bought from you a few months ago.” He holds out his hand to show the man, then proceeds to take it off his finger and give it to him.

"Oh yes, I remember," the old man says. He gets out his loupe and holds the ring up to examine it. “I’d say it was early Victorian, maybe even a little earlier than that,” he says. “The engraving on it is rather worn, but I always thought it might be French, or even Russian. It was obviously well worn and cherished.”

That’s all very interesting to Peter, both in the context of Carl and to himself as an enthusiast about old things, but it’s not quite what he came here to find out. He nods along with what the old man says anyway, taking it in - Carl might be interested anyway, if he didn’t already know. 

“Do you remember how you got it?” he asks, because that’s what he really wants to know.

The old man pauses in thought. “Do you know, I can’t remember,” he says, sounding surprised and consternated. “It was here so long, you see - years and years. No-one ever took an interest in it, until you did.”

That strikes Peter deeply. No-one else wanted the ring, but Peter was so drawn to it he couldn’t possibly leave without it - like it was waiting for _him_ , all that time. Of course, he thinks, he already knew that. He believed it completely when he and Carl talked about it yesterday, and it fits perfectly into his concept of what’s happening.

But it’s still a little frustrating, not to know exactly how the ring got here. It might not even be important, but still, he wants to know and he thinks Carl probably would too. Something suddenly occurs to him, and he’s not sure if it’ll lead anywhere, but he might as well try. He gets out his phone, and brings up a photo of Carl from Google. 

“Do you recognise this man?” he asks, showing the old man his phone screen. It might help jog a memory that seemed just out of reach for him when Peter asked a minute ago. Of course, if he recognises Carl from being a celebrity it might not work, but this bloke is old enough that Peter is doubtful he will. Plus, he runs an antique shop, and these guys are often not au fait with popular music trends from any decade. 

The old man squints at Peter’s phone for a long moment, then looks up at him in amazement. “That’s him!” he exclaims. “The man who sold me the ring!” 

Peter feels like he should be surprised, but he isn’t, not really. He feels a little sad that his sudden hunch turned out to be true. And he should probably break it to Carl, too, which might not be pleasant. 

He nods at the antique seller. “Thanks,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’m not with the police or anything like that,” he half-jokes. “Just curious.” 

He drives the short distance back to the house, preparing how he’s going to explain what he’s found out to Carl. He finds him in the living room, watching daytime TV, which Peter is sure probably isn’t any more exciting now than it was in the 80s. He wishes again that Carl could give him a hand as he puts away his groceries, but at least it buys him a few more minutes before he has to tell him about the ring. 

“So?” Carl asks, when he’s done. “Did you get anywhere?”

Peter takes a breath. He considers just saying no for a moment, but he knows he’d feel bad if he did. “Yeah,” he says. “The same old man was there, I knew he would be. He remembered the ring, but he didn't remember how he got it at first - until I showed him a photo of you from back in the 80s."

Carl's eyes widen in anticipation. "A photo of me?"

"Yeah," says Peter. "He recognised you… as the person who sold him the ring, back then."

Peter has no idea what reaction to expect from Carl - disbelief? Anger? Emotional upset? But Carl just winces.

"Oh, fuck, I did, didn't I," he groans. "Times were a bit tough when I was living here - I desperately needed some cash, I was at my wits' end trying to come up with songs, I probably hadn't slept in days - I just took it down there and took the money. Pretty despicable, eh?" he says, looking wracked with guilt.

"Listen, I've definitely been there, it happens," Peter says sympathetically, and truthfully. "You do what you need to do to get by sometimes. And anyway, it's back with you now," he adds, more cheerfully. "The old fella said the ring had been in the shop for ages. Apparently no one had ever been interested in it, until I showed up,” he says, unable to stop himself smiling at that. 

Carl smiles now too, even looking a little triumphant. “I knew it,” he says. “It had to be you.”

Peter nods, feeling relieved that Carl wasn't horrified to remember he'd sold a family heirloom to pay the electricity bill or whatever at his ramshackle country house. He also rather wryly thinks that might be him in a few months. At least he has plenty of stuff he could sell, and knows where he could take it. 

"It did," Peter says. "As soon as I saw the house as well, I knew I had to buy it. It just felt like home. The first time I've ever felt that."

"I did love it here, it's such a unique place," Carl says. "I should give you the tour," he suggests, and who is Peter to argue?

They start outside, and Peter puts some food out in the garden for the cat colony who evidently populate the area. He and Carl wander around the garden and the spooky little old out building - how can anything be spooky to him ever again, Peter wonders, when he's met his very own ghost, who isn't scary in the slightest? Quite the opposite. Carl leads him around the inside of the house, telling him various and nefarious tales of what he got up to here. How many times he had to break the window because he locked himself out. How once, in a fit of paranoia, he flushed all his drugs down the toilet, then burst into tears when he realised the police weren’t coming to raid the house after all. How he once woke up next to a beautiful blonde girl, naked on the rug in front of a roaring fire in the hearth, with no memory of starting it, but it was the best Christmas he'd had in years. 

Peter, being a nosy bastard, can’t help but have his interest stirred by one detail of that story, mentioned so casually by Carl.

“You managed to make time to fit some girls in too eh, in between bandmates?” Peter asks, grinning cheekily. 

“There are some definite perks of being a ‘rockstar’,” Carl says, smirking even as he puts air quotes around the word. “Let’s just say I made the most of them.” He looks rather smug about his prowess, and understandably so.

“Irresistible to both boys and girls,” teases Peter. “You liked to give equal opportunities to everyone?”

“Oh, you know, I tried a little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Carl says airily. “How about you?” he asks, a little more coyly. 

“Same,” says Peter, feeling rather bold to be talking about these things so plainly with Carl. “I’ve had girlfriends, I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve been told I fall in love too easily, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” he says, smiling.

“Me neither,” agrees Carl. “Love is never wasted, or a waste of time.”

“It’s one of my favourite things to do,” Peter says. Carl’s sincere words about love resonate with him deeply, and he’s suddenly aware of his heart beating faster, and when he looks directly at Carl and their eyes meet, he can feel his cheeks getting warmer too. He can’t help but think about last night’s dream again, how Carl looked into his eyes then, how good it felt to kiss him - he realises just how much he hopes he’ll get to do it again tonight, and the thought makes him feel even warmer. 

Much as he can’t wait to go to sleep tonight to see if he does, at least he has good company to spend the time with. Carl has plenty more entertaining stories about his life and career, about tour bus scandals and nerve-wracking border crossings, but he also wants to hear about Peter's life too. Peter, who's always thought he's led quite a colourful existence, suddenly feels quite pale and inadequate by comparison. Nevertheless, Carl listens attentively as Peter tells him about himself and what brought him here, his tastes and dreams and philosophies.

"I feel like I should be drinking in the kitchen at a party, talking about all these kinds of things," Peter says, laughing a little self-consciously.

Carl shrugs. "You can drink if you like, it's your house."

"It would feel a bit weird and impolite, when you can't," says Peter. "And it would probably be very annoying for you anyway," he adds with a laugh.

Carl chuckles. "I would agree that it is apparently very irritating when you're the only sober person and everyone else around you is drunk, but I don't think that ever happened to me in my life," he says wryly. "And I might have to ask you to open a bottle of red at some point, just so I can smell it."

Peter smiles. "I reckon I can manage that."

"Another thing I wanted to ask," Carl goes on, more earnestly. "The other day, we talked about books - you said you might read something to me sometime. Would you… do that? Tonight?" 

"Of course," Peter agrees immediately, his heart positively melting at the purity of Carl's request. "What would you like me to read?"

"You choose," says Carl. "And if I'm not enjoying it, I'll just tell you to pick another."

Peter laughs, and picks out his copy of _Wuthering Heights_. Certain elements of it feel faintly relevant, he thinks with amusement. 

It's late enough that he feels justified when he suggests, "Shall we read it in bed?" 

He feels like he's suggesting something much more outrageous than just reading a book, but Carl agrees readily anyway. Peter brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed, so he’s prepared to sleep whenever he feels like it, and they settle down on Peter’s bed to read. Peter enjoys reading aloud, and he’s been told he has a nice voice for it, soft and expressive, and after he’s been reading for a while, he notices that Carl’s eyes are closed and he’s looking pretty recumbent. Peter hastily puts the book aside, turns off the light and lies down himself, hoping he can fall asleep quickly - he’d hate to miss Carl or something, but he supposes he went to sleep later than him on the first night too, and they still ended up in the same place.

It doesn’t take too long for Peter to fall asleep in the end, and he finds himself in the same corridor he was yesterday, trying to remember which door Carl appeared from. He tries a couple, but they're locked, and he has to press on. He's sure all the doors are further apart than they were last night, and he keeps going, with a rising sense of urgency, suddenly wondering if he's even in the same place at all. Maybe he's accidentally ended up in another parallel place, just to mess with him and dash his hopes. But just as he's starting to panic that Carl is going around looking for him and they're going to keep missing each other, he finally reaches a door that he can open, and when he looks inside, Carl is there. 

"I've been waiting for you," he says, and Peter feels heat spread through him instantly, starting in his belly and spreading all the way up to his face.

Carl isn't wearing his jacket tonight, just a white vest and jeans that are even tighter than the ones he wears in (Peter's) real life, and Peter can't help but stare at him - his arms are smooth and more muscular than Peter would have guessed, and Peter just wants to touch. In this dream state, he can't stop himself, and he goes straight to Carl with smooth, slow dream steps, and puts his hands on his shoulders, and kisses him almost before he knows what he's doing. 

Carl kisses him back, and it's fiercer than last night, more intense, and Peter feels weak in the knees with it, it feels so nice that Peter is instantly swept up in it again, and he realises before long that what he's feeling is real desire, to do more with Carl than just kiss. He feels a sense of real abandon, that he wants to go further with Carl, to be as physical with him as they possibly can be, because here they _can_ and it's a dream and the feelings in him are surging, wild and unregulated. He's aroused by Carl, and by the kiss, and by feeling his firm body pressed up against him, and he realises he's hard, already quite insistently so. 

He wonders if Carl can feel it too, and wonders if he's in the same state Peter is, but then Carl shifts so his thigh is conveniently against Peter's crotch, and Peter knows he must know. He can't stop himself from rocking against Carl's thigh, shameless and unsophisticated, but he's just too turned on by him, so suddenly and intensely that his dream self can't think of anything else, and can't think of any reason why they shouldn't do this. 

He realises, finally, that Carl is hard too, can feel his hard cock against his hip, and it makes him gasp with want. He brings his hand down between them to grasp Carl through his jeans, to feel him and try and touch him, skin on skin - but suddenly he feels a change around him and he knows he's drifting back to consciousness.

He squeezes his eyes closed desperately, hoping it might remind his body to stay asleep, but it's no good, he's gone, he's awake, and Carl is lying next to him on the bed, his eyes half open, looking disoriented and confused.

"I'm sorry!" exclaims Peter. "I don't know why I woke up."

"It's OK, it's not your fault," Carl says soothingly. "And I mean, it must be worse for you," he adds, glancing down towards Peter's crotch.

Peter blushes furiously. Carl has a point, because Peter is still torturously aroused, and in all kinds of turmoil. "But it must be frustrating for you too," he says. "At least I can… take care of it," he says awkwardly. "I guess you can't even feel anything here."

"Not physically, no," Carl says softly. Peter can see the regret in his face.

"Ah, fuck," Peter says, impassioned. "I just wish we could touch right now." 

He automatically raises his arm in frustration, reaching towards Carl, and Carl mirrors his gesture. Peter isn't sure whether he's even doing it consciously or not, but they're so close that their hands come to occupy the same space between them - and then, just as they overlap, Peter feels the strangest sensation of his life. He has a sudden sense of vertigo, like he’s spinning through space with zero gravity, wildly disoriented and fractured, like he’s been physically pulled from one dimension, one state of consciousness, into another far removed. It only lasts a few seconds, and it abruptly ends, as Peter finds himself sprawled on a hard surface like he just dropped from the sky. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a little frightening and he doesn’t have a clue what just happened. 

“Carl?” he calls out instinctively, before he even moves. 

“I’m here,” Carl’s voice says in reply, and Peter feels an immense wave of relief that he's not experiencing whatever this is alone.

He scrambles to his feet and sees Carl doing the same. He looks just as shocked as Peter feels. 

"What just happened?" Peter says. "I'm not dead now too am I?" 

Carl shakes his head slowly. "I don't feel dead," he says. "In fact, I feel just as alive as I did when I was… alive." He's looking down at himself, turning his hands over as if he can get any clues from them.

"I don't feel as if this is a dream, either, not even a lucid one," says Peter. "I feel completely the same as I do when I'm awake."

"Me too," agrees Carl. He's starting to look more and more excited. "I can feel myself _breathing_ Peter! I can feel my heart beating!" In a rush, he reaches out and grabs Peter's hand, but this time there's no weird sensation, no sense of being flung into another part of space - just Carl's hand, warm and solid and holding onto Peter's, and pressing it to his chest.

Carl is right - Peter can feel his heartbeat, through the cotton of his vest, and he can feel the firm muscle of Carl's chest, and he can feel just how close Carl is to him, and inevitably he can feel his face getting warm again, remembering just what they were doing - somewhere, maybe in another world - just a few minutes ago. He supposes wherever they are and whatever just happened, he still feels this growing and curious attraction to Carl, the instinctive feeling that they should be together, wherever they end up. 

"What's going on?" he wonders, reluctant to take his hand from Carl's body, but still bewildered by the latest in an already strange series of events.

"I don't know, but I quite like it so far," says Carl with a lopsided smile. 

He lets Peter's hand drop gently as he steps back, looking around them. Peter feels like when they arrived here it was dark and dim and he couldn't see much, but now when he looks around he realises they're in a familiar space.

"This is… the gig venue?" he says, even more mystified. "Why would we be here?"

Carl shakes his head, equally baffled. "Maybe it's a significant place somehow, in my life," he says slowly. 

He looks uncomfortable with the thought, but Peter agrees with him. Peter has an idea which he's hesitant to voice, but he figures it's better to say, if it might help them work out what's going on.

"Maybe… it was where you played your last show?" he offers softly.

Carl nods, as if he was already thinking the same. "I think you're right. But I can't think why we'd be here, or how we got here, or what state of being we're really in," he says, and Peter chuckles.

"At least we are here, and we're here together," he says, feeling rather soppy. 

Carl brightens. "Yeah, that's something," he says. "I'm afraid you definitely seem to be stuck with me now."

Peter laughs. "I think I can handle that," he says, just a little flirtatiously. 

"You've done admirably so far," Carl says. “Even when I was alive, I was a bit of a handful,” he adds, smirking a little. 

“I can imagine,” Peter blurts out. He’s thinking of young guys (and girls) like Billy and probably many more, who couldn't resist Carl's charm and charisma and good looks. He completely understands how anyone could fall under his spell. And he keeps coming back to the thought that very recently they were kissing, and heading towards doing more than kissing, and he can't think of anything else now they know they can touch here too, despite all the questions they still don't have answers to. 

Peter knows he can never hide his feelings, they always show on his face, and he must be staring at Carl like a hopeful fanboy, but it also seems to be working, because Carl is looking right back at him with a rather devilish smile, and he takes a few steps towards Peter, closing the distance between them again. 

"I think we were interrupted before," murmurs Carl. "Where were we?"

Peter can't be bothered to think of a witty response when he could just kiss Carl instead, so he does. His heart flutters as their lips meet, it's even more perfect and even more real than in their dreams - but at the same time, he feels that same intense dizzy sensation, and he knows that whatever this is, wherever they are, is over before it's even really begun. 

In the few seconds he has to think about it, he expects he'll suddenly find himself - and Carl - back in his bed, where they were when they were thrown into whatever dimension this is. But, when he comes to a sudden and disorienting landing this time, he's not there - he's in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and the kettle is boiling next to him. 

He looks around himself in bafflement, again. Carl is standing in the doorway, looking just as shaken up. "What happened now? How are we here?!" he almost shouts. Alongside his confusion he can feel a rapidly rising sense of frustration at being thrown around all over the place, with barely enough time to catch his breath, or a kiss, let alone figure out why this is happening.

Carl shakes his head, his eyes shut tight for a moment. "What time is it? Come to that, what day is it?"

Peter checks his phone. "It's 3 o'clock," he says blankly. "We've been gone hours!"

"Certainly didn't feel like it," Carl says. "But we - or you, at least - must've been able to do normal things while we were gone." He sniggers suddenly. "I'd call it an out of body experience, but I think that's my entire existence now."

Peter chuckles at that too. He admires Carl's embracing of a sanguine approach to his own afterlife, it's clearly very helpful to them both, and it never fails to lighten the mood.

"Where were we? I mean, in terms of time and space," Peter wonders again. "It was like the dreams, but… so much more real. I felt just like I do now, not like I was following a script or expecting things to happen. I could feel everything, properly," he says emphatically. 

"Me too," says Carl wistfully. "I don't know where we were - but I'm glad you were able to get back. For me it doesn't matter as much, I mean, I'm already dead, but for you - I'm glad you didn't get stuck there." 

Peter hadn't even thought about that, he'd been too caught up in everything else whirling around in his mind. But he supposes it would have been pretty bad to have ended up lost in a liminal space, while his body did god knows what in his absence. But, just like he thought when he was in there - at least he was with Carl. It all felt like an exciting and unique adventure, something he would never have imagined - something no one else would've imagined either, and that's the type of experience Peter craves most in his life. 

“How did we get there in the first place?” Peter still has more questions than answers. “Did we do something in particular?”

Carl thinks. “I suppose we… touched? Our hands touched," he says. "But we did that before - we tried to shake hands right when we met, and nothing happened then."

"Maybe something has changed since then?" Peter wonders. "Since we got to know each other better and all," he adds, smiling a little coyly.

"Could be," agrees Carl, returning his smile. "Shall we… try it again? To see if it happens again?"

"I'm game if you are," agrees Peter readily. He wants to solve the mystery, and he's also happy to revisit any dimension where he can touch Carl. He puts out his right hand, palm up, inviting Carl to take it. 

Carl brings up his own right hand, as if he's going to shake Peter's again, and gently lowers it onto Peter's palm. 

Nothing happens. Peter feels a faint pins and needles sensation as their hands come together again, but they're still definitely in the kitchen of his house. Peter actually feels more frustrated, because it's just another false lead. 

"I thought we were onto something there," Carl sighs.

"Wait," says Peter. "This morning - it was my left hand that touched your right. My hand that has your ring on it. Maybe… that's what made the difference?" 

Carl nods eagerly. "It's worth a try." He lifts his right hand again, holding it out in front of him with the palm facing towards Peter. 

Peter lifts his left hand this time and mirrors Carl's gesture, moving his hand towards Carl's as Carl does the same. He holds his breath, watching intently as their hands come together again, and this time that vertigo sense of disorientation hits again, and he feels like he does when he stands up too quickly, and then a few seconds later, he finds himself sprawled out on his back on the same floor he landed on before. 

"Carl!" he calls out. "Carl, we did it!"

"I know!" Carl exclaims, getting to his feet and walking over to Peter. He puts out his hand - his right hand - and Peter takes it thankfully with his own left one again, letting Carl pull him to his feet. "I guess we worked out how we get here anyway."

"Yes, it must be the ring," Peter says in wonder. "It must be some sort of amulet, that drew me to you, and now… lets us be together here."

"But it obviously doesn't send us back as well," Carl points out. He's still holding Peter's hand, and he lifts it to his lips and kisses it, kisses the finger where the ring encircles it. 

Peter shivers with the gentleness of the gesture, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck at the touch of Carl's soft lips on his skin. It's so unexpected that it rather sweeps him off his feet. 

"Well, I remember very clearly what we were doing when we got sent back," he says, when he can manage to. "And I definitely hope that doesn't happen every time we try to do the same thing."

"Me too," agrees Carl fervently. "Do you think we should try, now? To find out for sure?"

"I think so," says Peter, wanting the kiss, but feeling a sudden moment of nervousness. What a cruel disappointment it would be, he thinks, to find this dimension that they can come to whenever they want, where they can touch and be together - but they can't kiss? Peter will be furious if that turns out to be the case, like some Sleeping Beauty bullshit where a kiss from the prince breaks the spell. 

He doesn't have long to worry about it, though, because Carl leans in and swiftly presses his lips to Peter's, like he can't resist. This time, they stay right where they are, and Peter relaxes all at once, kissing Carl back with all the released tension and frustration of their to-ing and fro-ing. It feels just as lovely as promised in the little taste they had before, and it’s so much more vivid than their dreams that Peter won’t be satisfied with anything else ever again. Peter just feels greedy for more, now he’s found someone so exciting and attractive who he wants to be with, and here they can touch and kiss and - presumably - do other things to their hearts’ content. 

Maybe it's the unconventional aspect that's so thrilling to Peter, he wonders, or the fact that they're limited in the time and space where they can do these things. It feels like they have to make the most of it, to appreciate it while they can, because they still don't know when they're going to be rudely jerked back to Peter's real life. Twice already today they've been interrupted before they could get any more intimate, and that's enough for Peter to be champing at the bit. His mind is quickly considering what else they might be able to do here, but he feels like they probably need to move from where they currently are to find out. 

He breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Do you want to go somewhere a bit more comfortable?"

Carl smiles against his lips. "Good idea." He's still holding Peter's hand, and he pulls him along, out of the hall and into the corridor, and through the doors Peter pushed his way through in his dream. There are people around them now, he sees, but they don't stop them or bother them - after all, Carl is the star, no one's going to question him, and he's certainly moving with a sense of purpose that no one would want to interrupt. If they're even paying the slightest amount of attention, they must know exactly where Carl is taking Peter, and what he wants to do with him, and the thought makes Peter feel even more excited, his heart beating faster and his blood pumping harder in his veins. He wants everyone to know he's with Carl, this incredible, beautiful, special human who could have anyone, but he's with Peter, and Peter isn't going to waste this chance. Walking along with Carl, Peter can feel the aura he has, the way he carries himself, the way he strides through the venue with a presence that commands attention without even trying. He looks like the boss, completely effortlessly, and it's making Peter feel hot even just being beside him, just looking at him. It's not that Carl is an entirely different person here, but Peter saw it even in the faded videos he saw on YouTube, that star quality, that Carl just seems to turn on and off like a switch. And he's turned it on in Peter, too, because as soon as he saw it, he couldn't not see it, and he couldn't resist it.

They make it to Carl's dressing room, without the door trials and errors Peter encountered in his last dream, and as soon as the door is shut behind them, Peter feels impelled to fall on Carl again, kissing his mouth urgently, like he's missed it during the two minutes they just spent not kissing. Carl kisses him back hungrily, and Peter delights in the feeling of having Carl in his arms and under his hands, feeling the warmth of him, his breath on Peter’s skin, the _life_ thrumming through him. He slides his hands up into Carl’s hair just to feel it, to know and to savour everything he can reach, because it feels so precious and special.

Soon Peter is overwhelmed with it all, he very greedily wants more of everything, to touch more, to feel more, to taste more. The false starts they've had before have just got him more and more wound up, but it's kind of a good feeling, a feeling of being charged up and ready, so ready, that every touch will feel ten times as good. 

There's a sofa in the dressing room, and Peter starts to make his way towards it, without letting his lips leave Carl's for more than a moment. He sprawls back on it in a not very dignified way, but Carl gets the message, and rather more nimbly gets on it with him, mostly on top of him, with a joyful little laugh. 

Peter laughs for a second too, but then Carl is kissing him again, even hotter, till he's breathless and his heart is thudding, and all he can think about is Carl's perfect weight on top of him, strong and firm and lean and _hard_. That's what he's been wanting ever since their dream last night, to be this close to Carl and to feel him, really feel him and feel how much they both want each other, panting and rubbing against each other, desperate and careless. 

Peter's hands roam eagerly over Carl's body like he hardly knows where to start, there's just so much that he wants to touch, but right now the need is urgent enough that he slides both hands between them and goes straight for Carl's belt and the zip of his jeans. That goes more smoothly than it's ever gone for him in his real life, and he slips his hand inside, feeling a rush of hot satisfaction as he finds Carl's cock, cupping it through his underwear and starting to rub teasingly. 

Carl groans in pleasure and Peter is struck by another sharp wave of arousal, that he's making Carl make that kind of sound, that they're both so keen for this that they're sensitive to the slightest and easiest of touches. Carl gathers himself enough to work his way into Peter's jeans as well, pressing his palm against Peter's own hard cock less gently, less in control, and Peter feels dizzy with it, with the knowledge that they're this close to being able to just fuck, uninhibited and with abandon.

And then. And then. There's a banging at the door, and Peter nearly screams. They can't even get a moment's privacy in this parallel universe that - in Peter's mind, at least - only exists so he and Carl can get physical together? At least Carl hasn't moved an inch away from him.

"Fuck off!" yells Carl vehemently, but he waits, like he's expecting what comes next.

"Carl! You need to get your arse onstage right now!" comes a loud and well-practiced voice from the other side of the door.

"Just - just give me ten minutes!" Carl yells back, the frustration obvious in his voice.

"You're already late, the crowd are gonna tear the place apart!" the exasperated voice comes back.

Carl looks at Peter in despair. "I come all the way to another dimension and I still have to go to work?" he laments. "How is that fair?"

"Don't go," pleads Peter. "Surely you can't have to, not in a place like this!" In Peter's mind it's just like a dream still, where they shouldn't really have to abide by routine or answer to anyone yelling at them. No consequences. But he's obviously wrong, because he can see the door start to open and he can see a large man standing there, obviously completely inured to sights just like this in Carl's dressing rooms. 

"Carl!" barks the man. "You put him down and get out there!"

Carl, defeated, slowly starts to climb off Peter. At least the rather belligerent interruption has thrown a pretty cold bucket of water over their ardour, so all Carl has to do is fasten himself back up and he's ready to go. 

"I'll come back," he promises, kissing Peter briefly on the lips - and then, there it is again, the dizziness and the pressure inside Peter's head that he already knows the significance of by now. 

It means they're going back - but this time, he's not even that disappointed, at least. He'd already experienced the crushing disappointment of realising he wasn't going to get off with Carl after all, at least not for another couple of hours or so, so what's the point? Better to come back for now, and try again. 

When he comes to himself again, he's standing in the kitchen again, making a cup of tea again, and Carl is standing in the doorway again. For a disorienting minute he thinks they've just come straight back to the same moment they came back to before, but this time when he checks his phone, it's 11 o'clock in the morning, and the date is… tomorrow, from the perspective of when they left. 

"How can we be gone so long, when we're… there?" whispers Carl, when Peter tells him when they've come back to.

"I guess my body must've slept, while my mind was there," Peter says, as he realises he's wearing different clothes to the ones he was wearing the last time he saw himself. His hair is wet too, so he must have recently had a shower, too. "It's kind of eerie, thinking that my body was carrying on as usual, but with no one piloting it," he muses.

"And I suppose… I probably wasn't here at all," says Carl. "Maybe that place is some kind of spirit world, where I'm supposed to be all the time, but I got lost somewhere between the worlds, until your presence summoned me back here," he adds with a little smile. 

"And you unwittingly kidnapped me off to your world," says Peter, smiling too. "I like it, I like it a lot. In fact, could we go again very soon? We were so rudely interrupted before, I want to see if we can go one better next time," he says, his smile turning into a cheeky smirk.

Carl looks a little troubled by the suggestion. "Do you think we should, so soon? Who knows when we'll come back next time? We still don't know how we get back here, or if we always will at all."

Peter shrugs. "We've got a hundred per cent success rate so far," he says. He takes a few steps towards Carl, meeting his worried gaze. "I just want to be in the place where I can touch you," he says honestly. "I haven't had enough of that yet."

"I know, I want that too," says Carl softly. "I just… think maybe we should use it sparingly, at least for now. It feels risky. Maybe we'll figure it out better over time."

"But wouldn't we be able to do that better if we spent more time there?" Peter persists.

"When we're there, we seem to keep getting distracted," Carl says, raising his eyebrows. Even though he's obviously trying to be sensible and stern, Peter can see he's having trouble keeping his face entirely straight. 

"That's the whole point," says Peter wryly. 

"Let's see how we feel tomorrow," Carl says, as firmly as he possibly can under the circumstances. "Think things through a bit more."

Peter sighs. "Fine," he agrees. “I just… really liked being able to touch you,” he confesses. “Not just in a sexual way,” he hastens to add. “But, you know. It would be nice to be able to kiss you goodnight, or to give you a cuddle whenever I felt like it, just to hold you.”

Carl looks moved by Peter’s sentiment. “You know, when people - especially men - used to say things like that to me, I never really took it seriously. I never really thought about giving people those sorts of things, or even wanting those things particularly. I just… selfishly moved through people, when they were convenient. It’s not that I never had any love or feelings for anyone, because I did - but as soon as the fancy passed, I’d move on, no matter how they felt. I didn’t mind giving myself to people physically, but I was never interested in their affection, or their deeper feelings for me. I suppose it was kind of frightening, the idea of being tied down to a person, of being responsible for their feelings and their happiness. I couldn’t promise them anything, and I didn’t want to. And there were always plenty of people who were happy with that.” He pauses. “But now I’m here, with you, and… it doesn’t feel frightening at all. Maybe it’s because I’m already dead so not much else seems scary anymore. But I don’t think it’s just that, Peter. I know it’s because it’s you, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t you. I never met anyone like you when I was alive. If I had, maybe the idea of being close to someone, really meaningfully close, wouldn’t have been so petrifying.” 

Peter’s heart flutters hearing Carl’s words, and he knows he could so easily be drawn in by them, seduced by them entirely. As if he’s not well on the way already. “I told you I fall in love easily,” he murmurs. “Is that what you’re trying to make me do?”

“Maybe a little bit,” Carl says, a smile hovering on his lips. “But of course, you’ll have to take my word for it. How much do you trust the word of a rockstar? Especially one who’s been dead thirty years.”

Peter laughs softly. “Well, I guess you’re not really the one who has to persuade me to like you,” he says. “Ghosts can do whatever they want. If you wanted to terrorise me, you could do, and there’d be nothing I could do about it. So, if you’re wanting me to _like_ you, I think I can believe it.”

Carl actually looks a little relieved, as if he couldn’t tell that Peter was already pretty keen on him after everything that’s happened in their dreams, and in the spirit world. Peter thinks it makes sense to call it that - the place they go where their spirits can be together. He doesn’t care if it’s a superstitious sounding idea, it feels right. 

“Damn,” says Carl. “Now I really do feel like kissing you. Maybe you were right after all.”

“We can go! We can go anytime you like,” Peter blurts out, already holding out his left hand in readiness. 

Carl shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, looking at least a little anguished. “We’ve only been back five minutes. Let’s try and wait a bit longer.”

Peter sighs, but less patiently this time. He’s happy though really, elated even, to have heard Carl say those romantic things, and he can’t help the warmth that’s settling in his heart when he thinks about it. And now he knows they can choose to go to a place where they can be even more together - he doesn’t feel so hopeless, or like something is missing that can never be found. 

He can’t help but smile, allowing himself to enjoy all the feelings rolling and swelling inside him. “Oh god,” he says aloud. “I’m going to end up like one of those mad old birds in Chat magazine who thinks she’s married to the ghost of Elvis, aren’t I?”

Carl laughs, properly laughs, and Peter feels a striking pride at being able to make that happen. “Listen, if you want to sell your story to a magazine and make yourself a bit of money, you’re welcome to. You won’t be the first - and this time it’ll be authorised,” he says, still chuckling.

Peter laughs too. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he says. “Or maybe I’ve found the material for my book.”

“Stranger than fiction,” Carl says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Or, I could write your life story,” Peter says thoughtfully. “You could have full control over what makes it in, of course,” he adds, smiling sweetly.

Carl snorts. “I don’t want you getting sued by anyone,” he says, but then he pauses, looking thoughtful. “Do you… really think people would be interested?” he asks, sounding genuinely uncertain. 

Peter rolls his eyes. “There are documentaries about you, there are active fan forums on the internet about you, you have two hundred thousand monthly listeners on Spotify - plus, you’re a super-cool rockstar whose fate remains an enduring mystery, all the ingredients are there,” he says matter-of-factly.

Carl looks down modestly, but Peter can see that he's smiling. 

"I have to warn you though - my writing style has been described as 'idiosyncratic'," Peter says. "You'd have to dictate it to me, in your own words."

"I'd be able to say all kinds of wonderful things about myself, just to make you think I'm such an amazing person," Carl says, still with that enigmatic, flirtatious little smile. Peter really does find it very attractive indeed. 

"I've already started thinking that," Peter says truthfully. 

"You're making me want to kiss you again, and it's only been a few minutes," Carl complains. "Be fair!"

"Believe me, I understand exactly how you feel," Peter says, from the heart. 

"I'm not going to be tempted!" Carl says firmly. "Let's find something else to do. I've still got a lot of TV to catch up on at least - is Countdown still on? I used to love watching that on tour, found it very soothing."

Carl is delighted to learn that Countdown is still on, and, as with Neighbours, there are a great number of available episodes for him to watch. Peter lets him indulge, sitting with him in front of the TV - he doesn't necessarily think it's going to be the most scintillating entertainment he's ever sat through, but he quickly finds that watching with Carl is a lot more enjoyable than he could've expected. Carl is very good at finding words from the nine random letters - Peter is impressed, and he can't help joining in as well. He has to admit he wants to show off to Carl how articulate and clever he is, too, and he feels proud when Carl praises him for spotting a particularly long or obscure word. It becomes a good-natured competition, though they're not keeping score. Peter genuinely feels full of warmth and contentment at the domesticity of it, finding pleasure in sharing such a simple, wholesome pastime. 

When they’ve had enough of that, they go out into the back garden and feed the cats together. The cats are still wary and don’t get too close, but they come and eat when Peter is at a safe distance. Carl watches them fondly, and they watch him right back curiously - Peter finds it very amusing and cute that they’re less nervous of Carl than they are of himself. 

As it gets towards dinnertime, Peter remembers what Carl said about the red wine, and asks Carl if there are any other foods he misses that he’d like Peter to get, so he can smell them too.

“Bacon,” Carl says immediately. “And fish and chips. Maybe a burger. And some salt and vinegar crisps.”

Peter chuckles. “That’s a relief,” he says, “I was worried you might have developed expensive, exclusive tastes and would want caviar or truffles or chicken wings coated in gold leaf. Those are a thing now, apparently,” he explains. 

Carl smiles. “Oh no, I have relatively simple tastes,” he says. “Still just a boy from the council estate at heart," he says, with a self-effacing look. 

Peter decides that he can absolutely fulfill Carl's vicarious appetite and olfactory desires - and it's a good excuse to get fish and chips. 

"Probably in the other world, the spirit world, you can eat anything you want too," Peter points out as he blithely eats a mountain of chips in front of Carl. "Though if that's what persuades you we should go back, out of everything, I might not be best pleased."

"That is tempting," Carl says, with a twinkle in his eye. "But look, it'll be bedtime soon, and we can still meet in our dreams."

That does brighten Peter's thoughts, it's true. In fact, he's actually feeling quite mentally weary, after his brain didn't get any sleep last night, even though his body did. It's like a kind of jetlag, but only in his mind - he's not quite sure what timezone he's supposed to be in, because his brain has skipped a number of hours that his body has gone through at a usual pace. Like his body is in Tokyo, but his consciousness is in London. 

So they settle into bed by midnight - which feels a bit strange for both of them, they admit, amongst giggles - and Peter drifts off easily, in eager anticipation of hopefully picking up where he and Carl left off last time. It won't quite be the same, now he has the vivid, full HD, VR experience, but if he can at least touch solid Carl under his fingertips and against his lips, that will be something.

When he starts to dream, he's in the dressing room, but he's alone. OK, he thinks, maybe this is just following on from the spirit world, maybe Carl is still doing the show he was dragged off to perform. That's one explanation that springs to mind anyway, so Peter waits for a little while, but patience has never been his strong point, and he has to know if it's true, or if something else is going on. 

He heads out into the corridor and back towards the stage, but just like in the last dream he had, the corridor seems long and complicated, with more doors and turns than ever. And there isn't a single person here either, so he can't even try to see if he could ask for directions. 

Eventually he finds his way back to the hall where the show was happening, but it's completely deserted. A sense of despair begins to rise inside him - is he locked in here somehow? Has the concert finished and passed in the dream world, and everyone has left, and he's stumbled into an empty building, literally in his sleep? Or has he been beamed into an entirely wrong universe, a wrong dream, and Carl is somewhere completely different, wondering where he is? 

He tries to wake himself up, but he can't - every time he tries, he just opens his eyes wider in the dream. Pinching himself does nothing - that's never worked for him anyway. More than anything he feels panic, that everything is somehow broken and Carl is gone, their connection severed. He sits on the edge of the stage and can't hold back a few tears that start to fall. He has a little cry, feeling very silly and spoilt, but there's no one around to see him, so he can feel as sorry for himself as he wants. And then, just as soon as his tears have dried up, he feels himself finally start to wake.

He's lying on his side facing away from Carl, but, for the first time, he notices he can really sense that he's there too, a presence he can feel just as strongly as if there was another living person in bed with him. He turns over quickly, wondering what his face must look like, and looks straight into Carl's worried blue eyes. 

"Are you alright? You were… sniffling," he says softly.

"I got to the venue, and you weren't there!" explains Peter, touching his cheek and finding it sticky with tears. "I was so worried. I thought maybe you'd just… gone."

"I couldn't sleep, I'm so sorry," says Carl, his voice filled with guilt. "I just lay here and watched you, and wished I could wake you up."

"So we can't rely on dreams after all," Peter says sadly. 

"We can try again," says Carl with determination. "I'll fall asleep eventually. We have some time, we can at least give it one more go tonight."

Peter tries to think positive, in case that helps, and closes his eyes again. He really hopes it's not him that can't sleep this time, while Carl does, because that really would get them out of sync and confuse things, but he quickly dozes off before he can see whether Carl has or not.

This time when he starts to dream, he's somewhere very bright and sunny. He doesn't recognise it at all, but there's a long stretch of beach, and tropical-looking trees and flowers, so he guesses that maybe he's somewhere in south-east Asia, or maybe Central America. He can't see any people, at least not closely enough to tell their ethnicity - the figures he can make out seem distant and faint and hazy, like he's looking at them through a glass bottle. Everything feels distant, in fact - he knows it must be hot here, because the sun is so bright, but his body feels a normal temperature. He thinks he should be able to smell the ocean or the flowers, but he can't smell anything at all. He can hear the sound of waves, but again, they're faint and intermittent, only really there if he thinks about it hard. 

This isn't like the dreams he's shared with Carl before at all - the messages delivered by his senses are all weak, not vivid, and Peter begins to despair again, sure that they must have missed each other. Peter has no idea where he is, or why he's here, or where to even start looking to see if Carl might have somehow ended up here too. He walks along the edge of the beach, trying to focus all his efforts on looking for individual people and examining them when he sees them, just in case. Eventually he comes to a big, ugly building that he can tell is a hotel, though he can't see the name of it - it looks like one, but more than that, he knows it is one, and he knows he should go inside it, by the same feeling he got when he knew he had to go up on the stage in the dream he had at Carl's gig. It somehow just feels right for the narrative.

Once he's in the foyer, everything feels a little sharper. There are people at reception, there are staff doing their jobs. The people he can see definitely look East Asian, so he at least has a slightly more definite sense of where he might be, but he still has no idea why. Now he's inside, there's only really one other logical thing for him to do, so he does it.

He walks up to the reception desk with a friendly smile. "Hello," he says pleasantly. "I was wondering if you could help me - I'm looking for a Mr Carl Barât."

The girl behind the reception desk looks at him uncertainly and Peter wonders if she just hasn't understood his English, but she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry sir," she says. "I can't help you."

Well, that's told Peter precisely nothing. Even if Carl was somehow here, he thinks, the staff wouldn't just tell him, would they? Especially if… especially if Carl is here in his capacity as a famous musician. Maybe he's really big in whatever country this is, maybe he's playing a nearby stadium tonight. They wouldn't just tell any old riff raff like Peter where he was, or even if he's here. 

Peter feels like he's used up that avenue. He doesn't want to persist and get thrown out by any of these burly security guards that are lurking discreetly around the foyer. But he also doesn't want to just give up and leave, so he decides to at least sample a drink in the smart-looking hotel bar, and just wait to see if Carl miraculously appears. 

Peter orders a pina colada, and waits, and waits, and he's still waiting for it to come when he wakes up. 

"What the hell was that!" he exclaims, deliberately loud enough that he wakes Carl as well.

"Hmm? What?" Carl mumbles thickly. "What was what?"

"You still weren't there," Peter says sadly. "I looked for you, but I didn't find you."

"I was waiting for you," Carl says earnestly. "Where were you?"

"I don't know!" says Peter. "Where were you?"

"I was in Thailand, for some reason," Carl says, frowning. "I was surprised when I found myself there. I was in a taxi, and it dropped me off at a hotel I stayed in there once. I went straight up to a suite on the top floor, and just… waited for you. I wasn't even sure if you were coming, but that was all I could think of."

Peter's eyes widen. "I _was_ there!" he exclaims, half in frustration, half in delight. "I'm sure I was! I was downstairs in a hotel, and I asked at reception about you, but they just said they couldn't tell me. Which probably meant you were there and thought I was a crazy stalker or something. I had no idea where I was, but Thailand makes sense," he says as the pieces slide into place in his mind.

"That's amazing, that we did end up in the same place after all," Carl says excitedly. "But that makes it even sadder that we missed each other. If I find myself there again, I'll remember to tell the staff they can send you up," he adds, with a smile.

"Isn't it a bit too… unreliable, though," Peter says. "If one of us can't sleep, it doesn't work. And we don't know where we might end up in our dreams, or why, and it might depend on other people and other things happening for us to even find each other. It was like a puzzle we couldn't solve, because we didn't have all the right bits. But, when we go to the spirit world…" Peter can't help mentioning it again. "We have to go together, and come back together. We end up there together. And it feels real! Being with you there feels just the same as if I could reach out and touch you right here and now. Please Carl, let's go there one more time. We can learn more about that place, and work out how to use it best."

Carl is teetering on the edge of being persuaded, Peter can see it. He holds Carl's gaze beseechingly, just hoping.

Eventually Carl stops looking so tormented, and he nods. "Alright," he agrees softly. "You're right. How can I know there's a place where I can hold you and kiss you, and stay away from it?" he says, and Peter's heart stutters and swoons.

Carl holds out his hand, and Peter doesn't hesitate, he grasps it with his own, and they're gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter is getting used to this now. He still feels a bit dizzy, but he doesn't fall on the floor like he's been spinning around anymore, he staggers a little, then catches himself on the back of the sofa to steady himself. He immediately recognises that he's back in the dressing room at the gig venue, and he's alone, but he only has a couple of seconds to panic about that, before Carl bursts in through the door and slams it behind him. 

"Is the show over?" Peter asks.

Carl shrugs. "I guess it must be, because when I arrived I was out in the corridor," he says. "I fucking hope it is anyway," he adds, advancing on Peter in a way that makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, it's just so full of intent. 

Peter isn't going to waste any precious seconds this time. He starts undressing before Carl even reaches him, going straight for the button of his jeans because that's the priority now, just make sure to give Carl access to the parts Peter most wants to feel his hands on. Carl pulls him straight into a kiss, and Peter feels the arousal flood back into him, he doesn't need any time to warm up now, he's ready to the point of going mad. He moves his hands to Carl's jeans, rushing to undo the button and zip and slide his hand inside again - he holds his breath, braced for interruption, whether from someone knocking on the door or from them getting whisked back to real life, but none is forthcoming, so Peter gets stuck in. He boldly puts his hand straight into Carl's underwear, and wraps his hand around his cock, already hard just like his own. It's a rush of satisfaction just to feel it, solid and warm and real in his palm, and Peter gives it a slow stroke, just enjoying the feeling of touching Carl so intimately, properly, for the first time. 

Carl moans low in his throat, and it makes Peter shiver, his excitement spiralling out of control. 

“Hurry up,” he pants urgently. “Before anyone can come and ruin it again.”

Carl chuckles breathlessly, his hands settling firmly onto Peter’s hips. “Turn round,” he murmurs.

Peter’s skin prickles with a fresh rush of arousal at Carl’s words and the tone of his voice, so sultry that Peter would do anything he told him to, anything at all right now if he demanded it like that. His pulse races and his head spins and he can’t obey Carl fast enough. He leans forward onto the back of the sofa, feeling how his arms tremble as they take his weight. He takes a shaky breath as Carl roughly pulls down his jeans and underwear, revelling in the thought that finally, after so many false starts, he and Carl are actually going to shag. The thought is so sweet, so tantalising, _so close_ , and he can feel Carl’s hot, firm hand on his hip, and he can feel the presence of Carl right there behind him, getting closer, until he’s pressing inside, all the way in in one quick thrust that makes Peter gasp out a moan. It feels _so good_ to have Carl finally inside him, and even better when he starts immediately moving inside him, fucking him deep and hard and like he can’t hold himself back either, he’s just as thrilled to finally get this chance as Peter is. Peter clutches at the leather of the sofa with sweaty fingers, losing himself in the feeling of being taken like this, in a hot, stolen moment in a backstage room by a cool, sexy rockstar, one who wants Peter just as much as Peter wants him. Carl wraps an arm round his waist to hold him steady, because god knows Peter can’t do that by himself, his legs are weak and his arms are barely supporting him, his body is just awash with too much pleasure. Carl leans forward too, pressing his torso against Peter’s back, and Peter wishes momentarily that they’d taken their shirts off so he could feel Carl’s skin against his, hot and sticking with sweat and alive with the lust and adrenaline of this moment. But he can feel Carl’s hot breath on the back of his neck, he can feel the wet, open-mouthed kisses Carl presses there, and he feels Carl’s hot hand as it slides from his hip round to his cock, hard and desperate, and he moans out loud when Carl grasps it and starts to stroke. 

Shuddering and panting, Peter thrusts into his hand helplessly, chasing greedily after the pleasure that he knows is coming, and coming fast. Carl is fucking him like he can’t get enough of him, and it turns Peter on even more to feel how much Carl is enjoying his body. He knows it’s going to be over quickly, but right now that’s not only ideal, in case they do get interrupted again, but also deeply exciting, that all the momentum they’ve built up over the times they’ve tried to do this has finally come to a climax and it’s all been worth it, for this intense, distilled encounter. The hurriedness and the illicitness just make it even more of a rush, that they might just have a few minutes to make the most of being together, and they’ve used them to the fullest. 

Peter can feel that Carl is getting close, just like he is. Carl is moaning every time he thrusts into Peter, and Peter cries out, he’s fraying now, heat coiling inside him as Carl pulls him closer and jerks against him, pushing all the way in one more time as he starts to come inside him. He’s still stroking Peter’s cock and Peter thrusts against his hand urgently, just for a few more seconds, teetering on the edge, then he’s coming as well, eyes squeezed shut tight and shaking against Carl, twitching and spasming and eventually slumping forward, catching himself once more on his arms braced against the sofa, spent and damp and finally thoroughly satisfied.

Carl is leaning against him, his forehead resting against Peter’s back, and though his shirt is tacky between them it feels nice to have him close still, their bodies still pressed together, Carl’s cock still softening inside him. Peter feels exhilarated to have finally got what he wanted, and he’s revelling in it as they quietly gather their strength --

\-- And then, before they’ve even caught their breath, there’s banging on the door again and commotion and impatient yelling for Carl.

“I’m not coming out!” he yells back, and Peter sniggers at the double entendre. 

“You fucking better!” the voice comes back ominously. “You’ve got to do the encore!”

“For fuck’s sake,” mutters Carl. “I do not miss this aspect of the job.”

“At least we got to finish this time,” whispers Peter. 

Carl brightens. “That’s something, yeah,” he says, finally disentangling himself from Peter. 

Peter turns back around so he can kiss him. “Maybe if you just go out and do it we can be together, properly,” he murmurs. 

“I hope so,” Carl says, kissing Peter again.

There’s more banging at the door, so Carl reluctantly fastens himself up, gives Peter one last kiss, and steps away from him.

And as soon as he does, again, Peter’s head swims and he knows in a second he’s going to find himself back home, probably not where he left himself, and who knows when.

He finds himself in his hallway, staring at his front door, and he’s confused, because the banging on the dressing room door hasn’t stopped, he can still hear it. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s coming from his own door now, so he’d better open it. He does, and is extremely surprised to find the smiling face of his sister on the other side. 

“Peter! It’s so lovely to see you,” she says warmly, immediately stepping inside and gathering him into a hug. 

Still trying to get up to speed with what’s happening, not to mention process the whiplash of being shot straight from the situation he was in with Carl to being face to face with family, Peter hugs her back wordlessly for a moment, before she pulls back from him suspiciously.

“You did remember I was coming didn’t you? It’s Saturday, I texted you about it on Wednesday and you said it was fine to come today,” she says, with a good-natured eye roll.

Saturday - that means he’s been gone for days! He has no memory of even arranging this visit - he wasn’t here on Wednesday either, obviously - but he supposes she wanted to come and see the new house, maybe she offered to help him out with some things? 

“Sorry, I lost track of time,” he says. At least it’s nothing new for him to not know what day it is. “Anyway, come in, have a look around,” he says, leading her into the living room, not even knowing what he’s going to find. It’s rather eerie to see it a lot more decorated than when he was last here - there are books and DVDs on shelves, cushions on the sofa, pictures on the walls. 

“Wow, Peter, I’m impressed!” Amy Jo exclaims, looking at him with wide eyes. “I thought I’d get here and everything would still be in boxes! Or all over the floor,” she chuckles. 

Peter is kind of impressed too, but also extremely weirded out. Amy Jo is right, he wouldn’t have expected him to put so much effort into putting things away neatly, even if he’d known she was coming. It’s unnerving, but, he has to admit, his absent self is making his real self look good. There’s no sign of Carl, though, and Peter can’t help worrying - first that Carl might not be here at all, and second, about how this is going to go if he is. He realises he doesn’t know whether anyone else can see Carl or not - he has to admit, he’s been assuming he was the only one, especially after the discovery of the ring and their dreams and the other world they go to only when they’re together - but he has no idea if that’s actually true, because no other humans have been to the house since Peter (and, hence, Carl) has been here. 

“I hope lunch is ready, I’m starving,” says Amy Jo, sending Peter into another wave of confused panic.

“I’m sorry, like I said I lost track of time-” he starts to say, but when he leads her into the dining room the table is laid, with a tablecloth and cutlery and glasses for two. 

“Aww, this looks lovely,” says Amy Jo. “Oh! I brought a bottle of wine, but I left it in the car. Let me go fetch it.” She turns and heads back out the front door, and Peter breathes a sigh of relief.

There’s no Carl in the dining room either, and he frantically dashes into the kitchen, where to his further relief Carl is standing, looking bewildered. 

“My sister is here!” Peter hisses. “I must’ve invited her days ago.”

“And apparently you’ve made lunch?” Carl says, gesturing at a big colourful bowl of salad on the counter. “There’s something in the oven as well, looks like it might be a quiche.”

Peter, who doesn’t remember ever cooking a quiche before, even one that came from Marks & Spencer in a box like the one he sees next to the salad, rushes to rescue it, because he certainly doesn’t have any idea how long it’s been in there. Fortunately it looks just right, so far as he can tell - not burnt anyway, so he just hopes it’s also past the window where it might poison anyone. 

“Do you… think she might be able to see you?” Peter asks. He feels troubled by the question - he finds that he rather wants Carl to be his secret, his and his alone, but what if, at the least, there’s some kind of genetic connection that allows Peter’s relatives to see him too? He supposes he’s kind of curious to find out as well.

Carl looks surprised to be asked. “I never even thought of that,” he says. “I fully assumed it was just you who could see me.”

“Me too,” Peter says. Now he has a moment to catch his thoughts, he feels a flush of warmth as he remembers where he was the last time he saw Carl, half dressed and still glowing from their brief encounter, and he can’t help smiling, bashful but also more than a little smug. 

Carl smiles right back at him, like he can see exactly what Peter is thinking of. He walks towards him, and Peter feels his heart jump as he approaches. Even though they can’t touch here, Peter can remember it vividly, and he lets himself, even though he knows they only have a few moments alone. 

“I’m glad we finally got to do that,” Carl murmurs, shy and gentlemanly. 

“Me too,” whispers Peter fervently. “It was amazing,” he says, feeling like it’s a pathetically inadequate description, but they just don’t have the time for him to praise Carl as fulsomely as he would like. 

“It was,” Carl agrees. Between them hangs the unspoken thought that, now they’ve managed to do it once, they will definitely want to do it again, whether or not they can figure out what's happening or how time passes in this world when they’re in the other one. Peter knows, and he thinks Carl does too, that they won’t be able to resist it, not now they know exactly how good it can be.

Peter hears movement through in the dining room and tries to sharpen up and act like his usual self for his sister again, though he knows it’s going to be tough with Carl’s distracting presence over his shoulder. Before he can turn and go back and intercept her, she’s emerging into the kitchen, and Peter’s stomach flips, this is the moment of truth!

But she doesn’t seem to notice Carl at all. She doesn’t ask why Peter has a strange man dressed up like he’s going to a very specifically themed party in his house, or comment on any unseen presence or atmosphere either. Peter feels selfishly relieved that Carl remains his personal secret and he doesn’t have to share him - but now the realisation sets in that he’s going to have to pretend Carl isn’t here as well in front of Amy Jo, when really all he wants to do is make moony eyes and share little secret smiles and saucy looks with him. Not to mention, if Carl tries to talk to him, knowing Amy Jo can't hear, he’s just going to have to try not to get distracted from her, his dear sister who’s come all this way to visit him, so he’d really better pay attention. 

“That looks good!” Amy Jo enthuses, looking at the food which Peter has miraculously produced in his own absence. “I wasn’t sure how you’d get on, living all the way out here on your own, but it seems like it’s done you good. I’m really proud of you,” she says, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek.

Peter feels a swell of emotion, not least of which is guilt, because he’s not really the one who’s done any of this - it’s as if he conned someone into doing it all for him, just so he could fool people into thinking he was a stable, capable grown up, like the plot of a corny romcom. It’s also a little galling to think that maybe everyone is relieved that the old, wilfully messy, flighty Peter has suddenly transformed into the organised and docile brother, son or acquaintance they always wanted. 

But he’s not going to dwell on that, because he really is pleased to see Amy Jo, and he knows she’s just trying to be nice and encouraging, like she always is. 

“Shall we open that wine then?” he says, deflecting her compliments with a self-effacing smile. He starts looking for a corkscrew - the last time he saw it it was conveniently left out on the counter, but he realises he has no idea where his alternate self has put it. He opens several drawers, looking through them unsuccessfully while his sister laughs.

“It’s hard when you’ve just moved in isn’t it, trying to remember where everything is,” she says sympathetically, helping him search. 

He’s relieved his sister is such an accepting person, and he seems to be getting away with his literal absent-mindedness so far, but it’s a little bit strange having Carl there too, able to see him being treated like a little brother. He has no idea what kinds of anecdotes or references from their past she might bring up, either - he suddenly feels a sense of mild alarm about what stories Carl might end up being privy to, completely by accident. Then again, if Amy Jo knew her little brother’s new romantic interest was around, she might try extra hard to embarrass him anyway, so it might even be a blessing that she can’t see Carl. 

They eventually get into the wine, and Peter is glad that the table is set and everything is ready so he doesn’t have to try and find cutlery and wine glasses and all sorts of things he isn’t sure he even owned but seem to be on the table, like napkins. He’d better check his bank balance later, to see how much his body might have spent while he wasn’t keeping an eye on it. Not that he’s ever particularly prudent when it comes to money himself, but he doesn’t think he’s ever bought things like napkins before in his life. 

Amy Jo helps him take everything through into the dining room, and Carl follows as they sit down to eat. Peter can’t help glancing at him, meeting his eye almost without intending to, but all he sees there is fondness and affection, and maybe a little curiosity, and it makes his heart warm. 

Fortunately for Peter, Amy Jo doesn’t pry too hard after her initial enquiries about what he’s been up to. She accepts that he’s been busy sorting out the house, getting to know the area etc, so he doesn’t need to start making things up to fill in the gaps where he still really doesn’t know what he’s been doing. She fills him in on all her own news, and updates him about their parents, and their other sister, and when lunch is over, they move back into Peter’s neat sitting room to finish the wine, with Carl accompanying them as well, of course. 

“So, what have you been listening to lately?” Amy Jo asks. Music is a usual topic of conversation between them, they often share tastes and recommendations, and if one of them enjoys something, they know the other is likely to as well.

Peter can’t help but shoot a meaningful glance at Carl, sitting conveniently in his eyeline so his presence is part of the conversation. “Actually, I’ve been listening to a couple of bands from the 70s and 80s,” he says, trying not to laugh as he sees Carl’s eyes widen, knowing where this must be going. “Dirty Pretty Things and the Jackals, have you listened to them before?”

“I don’t think so,” Amy Jo says thoughtfully. “I think I’ve heard the names though.”

“I’ve really been enjoying them,” he says, looking sideways at Carl, who’s shaking his head. Peter winks at him surreptitiously. “Shall I put them on?”

“Don’t you dare!” Carl exclaims, and Peter has to hide his grin behind his wine glass.

“Ooh, go on then,” says Amy Jo. “A good era.”

Peter hooks up his phone to his bluetooth speaker - neatly set up on a shelf while he was gone - and starts to play Waterloo to Anywhere on Spotify.

“This is embarrassing!” whines Carl. “What if she hates it?” 

“I think you’ll like them,” Peter says, addressing Amy Jo but mostly trying to reassure Carl that he knows what he’s doing. 

Amy Jo nods, listening attentively. Carl gets up and starts to pace about, but he doesn’t leave the room, so Peter knows he mustn’t be too put out - after all, he was keen for Peter to listen to his music when they first met, and he’s obviously curious to see what Amy Jo thinks too. 

“This is really good,” says Amy Jo, after the first song. Peter knows she’s sincere, and he hopes Carl can see it too. “There’s a really great energy to it, it still sounds fresh and relevant and infectious.” She drains her wine glass and gets to her feet. “Come on Peter, dance with me,” she demands, in a bossy big sisterly way. “Like we used to do at home. Like you used to with mum!”

Peter rolls his eyes. It’s obviously his turn to be embarrassed in front of Carl, which he supposes is only fair. He takes her offered hand, and lets her lead him - she’s always been a much better dancer than him, but it’s always been something they’ve had fun with, a family tradition. Carl has sat back down again, out of the way, and every so often Peter catches his eye and sees him smiling or even out and out giggling, but that’s nice to see, and it makes Peter smile too. He’s glad Carl is getting to know his sister too, in the best way he can, and get a little glimpse of what his family is like. 

Peter makes it through a couple more songs before he has to stop and have a sit down. Amy Jo keeps dancing, calling him a quitter, and he goes to make them some tea, followed closely by Carl.

“Your sister seems very nice,” Carl says, with genuine warmth. “You two are having so much fun together, it’s lovely, I really mean that.”

Peter smiles. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen her. It was a nice surprise.”

“I’m glad,” Carl says. “I’m glad you’ve got some real human company as well. You’d go crazy if you were just stuck here with me the whole time.”

Peter chuckles. “You’ve seen what I’m like, and now you’ve seen what my family is like too. You still thought I was definitely not at all crazy?”

Carl pauses. “Well, I suppose you are talking to someone who’s not really here,” he says cheekily. 

"I wish I could dance to your songs with you too," Peter says, half teasingly. 

Carl laughs at that. "I wouldn't normally say this, but even I have to admit, I'm a much better dancer than you."

Peter can believe him, he has to be honest. "Next time we go to the other place, you can prove it," he whispers, heading back to the living room with the tea. 

Amy Jo leaves in the early evening, giving Peter a tight, lasting hug. 

"I'm really pleased you've settled in so well here," she says, smiling. "But I'm also glad you've not gone all boring now you're a homeowner," she laughs.

Peter is half-offended that she could even think such a thing were possible - he blames Caretaker Peter, the one who's in charge when he's away doing other, more fun things. That guy seems like a bit of a square. At least Peter can finally feel relieved to hear that Amy Jo wasn't better pleased with that version of him than she was with the real one, after all. 

After she’s gone, Peter finishes off the rest of the quiche as he and Carl sit on the sofa in front of the TV, their usual evening - and frequent daytime - activity. 

“Your sister looks just like you,” Carl says fondly. “Have you always been close?”

“Yeah, especially when we were kids, we’re so close in age,” Peter says. “We stuck together when we were little, especially because our family moved around quite a bit.”

"Me too," says Carl softly. "When I was very young I only really had my sister. We relied on each other. She was always there for me, even when our parents weren’t.”

“She was obviously very proud of you, that was clear from that documentary,” Peter says. “And I’m sure your parents were too.”

“Actually, I think they probably were,” Carl admits, chuckling. “They weren’t always the most attentive when I was growing up, but I think they were actually pretty pleased with my chosen career. They were pretty unconventional, which explains both of those things,” he says dryly. 

“Unlike mine,” Peter says. “They’ve been tearing their hair out over me, nagging me to settle down and get a normal, steady job and a stable living situation for about fifteen years now,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “But now Amy Jo has been to visit, she can report back to the ancestral home about how this move has done me the world of good and how I’m a changed man. All thanks to caretaker Peter, who did all the heavy lifting while I was off having a lot more fun,” he says, a little smugly. “We need to go off and leave him in charge every time the bins need taking out or the toilet needs cleaning. He's doing a better job of running my life than I ever did."

Carl laughs. "You don't know what else he might be doing as well, though." He suddenly looks a little more serious again. "We must've been gone longer than ever this time. Does that… worry you at all? That you don't know what you're missing, while you're gone?"

"Not really," Peter shrugs. "I mean, I got back in time to see Amy Jo, even if I didn't remember arranging it. It worked out perfectly, better than I ever would've imagined if it had all been left up to me. In fact, it was almost like her arriving summoned me back. So I couldn't have missed her." Peter has no concerns about the time that passes when he's gone - it's not like he has any commitments. As long as his body is getting fed and his bills are getting paid, that's all Peter could wish for. "Plus, we didn't get broken off, finally. So any time you want to go again… I'm happy to," he says sweetly. Peter would be happy to just dive straight back in there right now. After their last escapade went so well, he's encouraged and feeling ready for round two.

Carl chuckles. "Well, it's nearly bedtime now, so how about we see what we dream about tonight? And then if we're not satisfied with it, we can think about it in the morning," he suggests. 

Peter can't really think of a decent reason to argue, so he agrees, and is ready for bed earlier than ever. And it was a little tiring to have an unexpected guest, especially straight after being pulled back into this plane of existence. His body was probably awake early too, making salads and laying tables. Not to mention, if it means getting closer to the time when he can go to a place where he can touch Carl and kiss him and do anything he likes with him, Peter is ready to try all the melatonin and yoga he can to bring on sleep sooner. 

When he does sleep, and dream, he finds himself back in the hotel bar, exactly where he was last time he slept. There's an empty glass on the table in front of him, which feels like a bit of a swizz, that he didn't even get to drink his cocktail - he wants to order another, but he'd rather find Carl first, so he goes to reception, and asks again.

"Hello," he says, to a different person behind the desk. "I'm here to see Carl Barât." If he sounds more confident about it, maybe he'll have a better chance.

The girl behind the desk today smiles pleasantly, and Peter already feels more hopeful. "What's your name please?"

"Peter Doherty," he says, feeling his heart start to beat harder, even in the dream. 

"Oh yes, Mr Barât said you should go right up," she says, and Peter rejoices inside - the plan really worked! 

She slides him a piece of paper across the desk, and when he opens it up he reads 

" _Peter -_

_Room 1203. 12th floor. I'll be waiting,_

_Carl x_ "

Even just reading it sends a thrill through Peter from head to toe, with that same feeling of being in a romantic movie, heading to a secret assignation. The script has been written, all he has to do is follow it. So he heads swiftly to the lifts, though he has to wait an age to get in one, just like he had to wait so long for the cocktail he never got to drink. But eventually he does, and he prays that this lift behaves normally, and not like lifts can in dreams sometimes, where they stop at every floor except the one you want, or you can't get through a crowd of people to get out, or you end up on the wrong floor and you can't find the stairs. But it's not like that. He makes it easily to the twelfth floor, and he successfully finds Carl's room quickly, without having to try doors or wander around endless corridors like he did backstage at the gig venue. He knocks on the door, his heart fluttering with anticipation, and when Carl opens it, Peter immediately flings himself into his arms, like he hasn't seen him in months.

Carl holds him tight, and Peter clings to him, just enjoying having Carl in his arms again, his body so slight against Peter's, but so firm and so nice to hold. It's more familiar, now he has more realistic experience of holding Carl like this, but the dream version still can't compare - though that's not to say Peter isn't going to make the most of this chance anyway. He closes his eyes, and hugs Carl close, until he starts to shift in his embrace. 

"It's always so nice to be able to touch you," Peter sighs happily as they ease themselves apart. 

"It is," Carl agrees, leaning up to give Peter a kiss that's tender, but brief. "I had them send up some drinks before you got here," he says, pointing out two glasses on the dressing table. "Hope you like mojitos."

Peter very much does, but he would have been happy with anything Carl had chosen - he would call himself a connoisseur, but really he's more of an enthusiast. They take their drinks and go to sit out on the balcony, where Peter is met by a breathtaking view over the ocean.

"Nice spot," he says, as they settle down onto sun loungers.

"It is, isn't it," Carl agrees. "I don't know exactly why we ended up here, but I suppose it was a fairly significant place in my life - I came to Thailand a couple of times for rehab," he says matter of factly. "I mean, it didn't work. But I suppose in the end it didn't need to - drugs didn't kill me after all, which was a bit of a surprise, I have to admit," he goes on wryly. He looks at Peter and smiles. "But at least I got to come and discover this beautiful place, and make some memories to bring you into now."

Peter smiles back at him. "That's a lovely way of looking at it," he says, genuinely touched. "I wonder if we'll ever end up anywhere from my memory. I fucking hope not," he says, wincing. “I don’t need to revisit that, and you definitely don’t need to see it.”

Carl chuckles. “Oh, believe me, gigs aside this is probably the best possible aspect of my life that I could show you,” he says. “Luxury suite, stunning views, twenty-four hour room service - they really will get you anything you want in a hotel like this. I’m expecting some microwaved cheese any minute.”

Peter can’t help smiling, Carl seems so filled with childlike excitement. “You must be happy you get a chance to do things like eat again as well,” he says fondly. 

“ _Yes_ ,” says Carl, from the heart. “This is the first drink I’ve had in thirty years!” he says, raising his glass and holding it out for Peter to clink his own against. 

“Congratulations,” Peter says, laughing as he obliges, and they both take a drink. 

“It’s not quite the same,” Carl sighs, inspecting his glass. “And I don’t think I could get drunk on dream mojitos, no matter how many I had,” he says wistfully. “But at least I can relive the experience to some extent.”

There’s a discreet knock at the door, and Carl hurries to answer it, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of melted cheese. He brings his bounty with him back onto the balcony, and Peter chuckles at his delighted expression as he takes the lid off the dish and reveals a pool of shiny yellow goo, with half a baguette on the side. 

“You weren’t joking when you said you had simple tastes,” laughs Peter. 

“Can’t beat it,” says Carl, ignoring Peter’s judgement. He happily tears off a piece of bread and dips it in what Peter assumes is cheese, even if it’s not as he would’ve known it. “Try some,” he says, offering Peter the dish.

Peter has never been one to turn down free food, so he copies Carl and digs in. Just like the mojito though, it isn’t really the same experience as eating something in real life - flavours and other experiences of the senses feel dulled or muffled and distant, never living up to expectation. Either that, or they never happen at all, like Peter’s pina colada, or the times they haven’t found each other, or when they’ve woken up just as they were getting to the good bit. 

Speaking of that, Peter suddenly thinks it’s funny that they’re sitting here eating cheese rather than taking each other’s clothes off and leaping into the extremely comfortable looking bed, but Carl looks so happy that he just can’t bring himself to say anything about it right now. They might have time for that after - and if they don’t, well. There’s always the spirit world, where they can have more of everything, and brighter, and more real, and exponentially more enjoyable. 

Peter isn’t going to spoil the moment by saying that right now, though. They never know when they’re going to wake up, and they can have that discussion when they’re awake and can’t do all the things they can do here. He’s going to let Carl enjoy his cheese and cocktails, and just relax in the moment, being together in this exotic location that Peter would never otherwise have got to see. It’s peaceful, and tranquil, and Peter reaches over to rest his hand on Carl’s leg, just to be touching him. 

That’s the last thing Peter remembers before he wakes up, but it’s with a great sense of serenity and warmth inside, even though he and Carl didn’t really do much. It felt nice to see Carl happy, and to share in a part of his life that obviously holds pleasant memories. Somehow, he feels extra close to Carl right now, even though they weren’t physically intimate. But that just makes him wish he could hold Carl right now even more.

He turns over to look at Carl with a soft smile. Carl, though, looks back at him vaguely embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I took you all the way to dream-Thailand, from _my_ memories, and we didn’t even do anything racy or romantic. That seems a bit of a waste.”

Peter shrugs. “Actually I thought it was very sweet, just being there with you, seeing you so happy,” he says. He feels soppy, but that’s a feeling he takes pride in. “And sometimes that’s just the way it goes in dreams, isn’t it? They’re not totally under our control.”

Carl pauses. “We know a place that is, though, don’t we,” he says quietly, and Peter’s heart leaps. It’s always been him who’s been eager to go to the other place, while Carl has urged caution - for good reason, but it’s thrilling to hear Carl raise the possibility himself now, like he wants the freedom to do what he wants with Peter, like he can’t resist the possibility either right now. 

“We do,” says Peter quickly, wanting to show Carl just how keen he is. “I don’t want anything more than to touch you right now.”

Carl smiles, his eyes bright. “Let’s do it,” he whispers, ready to take Peter’s hand.

“Wait just one second,” says Peter, turning over again in a rush, not wanting Carl to think he’s stalling or reluctant. “Just let me check my messages, make sure I didn’t tell anyone else they could visit any time soon.”

Carl laughs, and Peter grabs his phone, hastily checking all his messaging apps. To his immense relief, no-one else seems to be expecting to visit, so he throws his phone back onto the bedside table for caretaker Peter to deal with, and turns back over to face Carl, giggling like a giddy youth. 

“We’re good to go,” he announces triumphantly, and puts his hand over Carl’s where it’s lying on the bed between them.

When they land this time, they’re in the back of a car, being driven at a leisurely pace through the nighttime streets of London. He looks to his left, and there’s Carl sitting next to him, looking tousled and sweaty and beautiful in profile, and then he turns to Peter and gives him such a wonderful smile that Peter can’t help but lean over and kiss his mouth, immediately and without hesitation. 

Carl kisses him back with a soft sound, like he’s relieved, grateful even, to be kissing Peter again, properly, to be able to feel the warmth of his lips and taste them with the tip of his tongue. Their hands are still linked between them, and Peter clasps Carl’s neat hand in his own, delighting in the feeling of it, of being able to encompass it so wholly in his own. Everything is always so sharp and bright here in contrast to the watercolour of their dreams, and Peter relishes everything, the close up imprint on all his senses at once. 

Carl pulls back from their kiss after a minute, fumbling around in his jacket pocket. “You know what I’m going to do,” he says, and Peter can guess as he pulls out a packet of cigarettes. “I’m going to smoke. And it’s going to be fantastic.”

Peter laughs at seeing Carl so pleased with himself. “Light me one too,” he says, and Carl does, putting two cigarettes between his lips and lighting them both, before taking one and offering it to him. Peter parts his lips in invitation, and Carl gently slips it between them. Peter feels more than a frisson of desire, and he can see it reflected right back at him in Carl’s face too, the way his eyes linger on Peter’s lips, then move up to meet his gaze and don’t break away. 

“Where are we going?” Peter murmurs. He hopes it’s not far away, wherever it is.

“I guess we must be going to the hotel,” Carl says slowly. “After the show. And the last time I did this - the last time I did a show, I got dropped off at my hotel, but I was by myself. And I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to just go inside, have a drink at the bar, go to bed, that sounded so boring. So I ran off into the night. And we know what happened after that,” he says, with a wry smile. 

“If only I’d met you then, you’d have been alright,” Peter says. “Or if only someone had.”

Carl shakes his head. “That’s it though isn’t it,” he says, taking a drag of his cigarette. “If I hadn’t wandered off and fallen in the river, I never would’ve met you. And that would obviously have been... wrong.”

Peter contemplates Carl’s words. They feel right, like this is what was meant to happen - or at least, that if it hadn’t happened, there would have been something missing, some sense of universal incompleteness. That’s what he feels like now he has met Carl, anyway - maybe if he hadn’t, he would never have noticed that sense of not having something, or realised what it was, but now he knows, it’s so obvious that his life wouldn’t have been the same without him. 

“You’re right,” Peter says thoughtfully. “A very particular chain of events had to happen for us to be together. We’re so very lucky,” he reflects. 

"Well, I certainly am," Carl says. "I got another chance at life, literally, thanks to you. I'm glad you feel the same."

They smile at each other, and lean in for another kiss. Peter just wants to be close to Carl now, wants to be touching him and connected to him and sharing as much as he can of himself with him. He can't wait for them to be alone together, so he can really focus on Carl and Carl alone.

They break apart as they realise the car is stopping outside another high class hotel. They get out, and Carl puts his hand in his pocket, and pulls out a key - he seems as surprised as Peter to find it there, but it has the number 1203 on it - the same number as the room in Thailand, so they walk confidently into the building and head straight for the lifts and up to the twelfth floor. 

To their relief, the key unlocks the room, and the first thing they see is another beautiful view through the window opposite them, this time looking over the lights of the city of London at night. There's a balcony here, too, so they go straight out onto it without turning on the lights in the room, just wordlessly admiring the cityscape for a moment. Peter puts his arms around Carl and hugs him close, and Carl does the same. Peter's heart still skips whenever he gets to do this again, he still isn't taking it for granted, he's going to enjoy every moment to the fullest.

Eventually, and inevitably, their faces turn towards each other, and they let themselves be drawn into a long, slow kiss. Unlike the last time, Peter doesn't feel any sense of urgency now, there's no feeling like there's something waiting to interrupt, or that there's something they need to do before they can just relax and be together. Somehow he feels like they can take their time now, explore each other and learn about each other and fulfill every moment. 

His lips leave Carl's for just long enough to guide him back inside and towards the massive bed. He might be certain that they don't need to hurry but he still can't wait to be in that bed, naked, with Carl all over him, so he isn't slow to take his clothes off, and neither is Carl. Anything they're doing right now with clothes on, can only be improved by doing it with clothes off, they seem to agree. 

Peter realises this is the first time he's seeing Carl fully naked - he's seen him with his shirt off, and he's felt parts of Carl without any clothes on, but he does pause now, his gaze caught on Carl's body, just enjoying looking at all of it. It's breathtakingly exciting, and Carl must see just how much. Carl gets on the bed and lies back against the pillows, giving Peter a grin that he might be inclined to describe as cocky. Peter supposes he must be used to having people ogling him and drooling over him like idiots, just like Peter is now.

"Come on, what are you waiting for," Carl teases. 

"You're gorgeous," blurts out Peter, aware that he's still staring. "Now you've got your body back, and I can finally see it, I want to appreciate it."

"Me too," Carl replies, raising his eyebrows. “Come here.”

Peter goes then, climbing onto the bed with Carl and into his arms, immediately pressing his whole body against Carl's, skin to skin. He runs his hands over Carl's smooth, warm back, still revelling in being able to touch him and feel him, and knowing Carl can feel it too. 

Carl hardly hesitates, looking into Peter's eyes for a moment before kissing him, intense but tender, and Peter melts into it instantly. He's still not used to it, still gets a giddy, excited feeling in his chest and in his belly when they kiss and when Carl touches him, the feeling of being wanted, being chosen by this extremely sexy and attractive guy. Carl's hands are delicate and gentle on his body, caressing him, and Peter shivers under his touch, arousal mounting up inside him, his skin tingling with it. Peter wants all of his senses to be filled up with Carl, wants to smell him and taste him, every inch of him, and he kisses from Carl's mouth down to his jaw and neck, mouthing the skin there, tasting the salt of his sweat, feeling his pulse, rapid in his throat. 

He trails his tongue along Carl's collarbone and kisses down his chest, licking teasingly at a nipple and making Carl give a breathless giggle. He takes his time with gentle lips and open mouthed kisses, feeling the rise and fall of Carl's chest, enjoying the smooth, soft flesh of his stomach, until eventually he gets to where he wants to be most of all. He looks up at Carl and wets his lips deliberately with his tongue, and Carl swallows, watching him with wide eyes. It's so pleasing, seeing Carl so aroused by him and for him, and Peter just wants to make him feel good, wants to give him more pleasure than anyone else ever has. 

He wraps his hand around Carl's hard cock, then lowers his mouth to it, slowly sliding down as far as he can. He can feel Carl's gaze still on him as he starts to move and to suck, satisfied when Carl moans softly, his hand coming up to rest in Peter's hair encouragingly. Peter loves it, loves this, the intimacy and the closeness and the way he can make Carl feel. It’s so exciting to be able to taste him, to take his time over it, and he loves the feeling of Carl filling his mouth up, over and over as Peter tends to him with his soft mouth and tongue and lips. Peter loses himself in the newness of the experience, exploring what Carl likes and feeling thrilled every time he makes him moan or shudder or push himself further into Peter's mouth like he's just as caught up in it as Peter is, and hopefully even more.

Peter would be very happy to just carry on like this, let Carl finish in his mouth, but after some minutes Carl is urging him off and back up the bed so they can face each other again. 

Carl kisses him straight away, hotter now and messier, and he rolls Peter onto his back, slotting himself between his legs, his intent clear. Peter feels delighted arousal shoot through him like an arrow, he can't wait to feel Carl inside him again, and like this, so he can see him and hold him and respond to him - the anticipation is delicious. But it just lasts for a moment, and then Carl is pushing slowly inside him.

Peter's eyes fall shut and his whole body feels lax, all he can feel and all he wants to feel is the intense pleasure of Carl moving inside him, slow and deep and sensual at first, taking his time over it, taking care with every movement and paying attention to Peter's reactions, what makes him gasp and moan with pleasure, what makes him roll his hips with Carl's to get him to just the right spot in the right way, what makes him grab and clutch at Carl to tell him to do it again. 

Peter was already so turned on just from sucking Carl's cock, he's so caught up in him and so deeply attracted to him that every movement and every touch feels like nothing anyone has ever done to him before. He just wants to let Carl take him over completely, because it feels so good, and soon Carl's measured pace is speeding up, harder and less controlled, and that's even better. Peter can feel himself getting closer in a swelling, cresting wave, and he takes himself in his hand and strokes urgently, knowing it won't take much more. He doesn't last much longer, and he cries out as he comes, twitching under Carl as he spills between them, hot and slick between their bellies. 

Carl groans, and Peter feels him start to come too, holds Carl close to him as he shakes in his arms, kisses his face and his hair as he lets himself drop onto Peter's prone body, catching his breath and sweaty with effort. 

Peter feels even better than he did the first time they did this, because he's fairly confident, this time, that they'll at least be able to lie here and recover for as long as they like. He cuddles Carl to his chest happily, just enjoying being able to share this experience together, replete and blissfully satisfied. After a while, Carl eventually disentangles himself, shifting so he can lie more comfortably against Peter, still in his arms, and they kiss lazily, wrapped up in the intimacy of the moment. Carl fits so perfectly in his arms, he tucks in so neatly under Peter’s chin when he snuggles up to him, and Peter just wants to hold him and kiss him and not let him go. At some point, he knows, he’ll have to, but until then, he wants to imprint this feeling into his memories, to keep him going till the next time. 

Peter doesn’t know how long they lie there like that - he isn’t really sure how exactly time passes here, and he thinks it probably doesn’t matter anyway. He briefly wonders how long has passed in his real life, but he doesn’t really care about that either, not when he’s so happy in the perfect little bubble he and Carl have here. But eventually Carl stirs, and lifts his head to look at Peter.

“I want something to eat,” he says decisively. “I wonder what the room service is like here.”

“I’m sure they can find you some cheese if you ask nicely,” Peter chuckles. 

"I think this time I'd like it on a burger," Carl says. 

Now he mentions it, that sounds like a great idea to Peter. Everything is so simple here - they don't need things like a menu or money, they just pick up the phone and ask for what they want, and a pleasant voice tells them it'll all be taken care of. They put on thick plush robes they find in the wardrobe, and lounge around in bed smoking and drinking beer out of the well-stocked minibar until their food arrives. It doesn't even take long, and it doesn't take them long to eat, either.

"That was the best burger I've ever tasted in my life," Carl sighs happily. "And I've tried many, all over the world, believe me."

Peter smiles, in complete agreement. Everything here, even the bottled minibar beer, tastes amazing, everything he could ever want, unlike the faint and distant flavour of things in their dreams. But, like in the dreams, the thing he takes the most pleasure in is watching Carl enjoy doing simple things that he misses when they're in the real world. 

"You know another thing I haven't done in thirty years?" Carl says, when they've finished. "Had a bath, or a shower. I mean, there were times on tour when it kind of felt like I hadn't washed in years. But it would be nice to feel some hot water on my skin again."

Peter smiles fondly at such a wholesome wish. "You can do that," he says encouragingly. "You can do anything your heart desires," he adds, bringing Carl's hand to his lips and kissing it chivalrously. 

"You can join me if you like," Carl suggests, with a smirk. "I'm sure the bath in this place must be big enough for two."

Peter fairly leaps at the chance, and they take themselves off to the bathroom. There is indeed a sizeable bath, that they'll both easily fit into, so Carl starts running the water. 

"It's so nice to just be able to do things without thinking about it," Carl says happily. "To touch things, to pick things up, to make things work. You know what I'd like as well," he says, a thought suddenly striking him. "To read a book. I'd like to read to you this time, if you'll let me," he says, suddenly sounding a little bashful.

Peter's heart is truly warmed by the idea. "I'd love that," he says. "But are there any books here?"

"I have a feeling we'll find some," Carl says. "My bag might even be in the room, and that will certainly have a book or two in it."

While the water runs, they go back into the room. Carl is delighted to find his bag is there, especially because it has some different clothes in it for him to change into, and he also finds several books. 

"I don't remember packing all of these things," he muses. "But maybe here, whatever we want and whatever we need is here as well."

Peter can believe that. He wonders what he can wish for, to see if he would find it the next time he turns around, but he can't really think of anything else that he really wants right now, except to be read to in the bath by Carl. Maybe a cup of tea, he thinks, which he can easily make in the hotel room. 

"You want a cuppa?" he asks Carl, taking the kettle to the bathroom to fill it with water.

"Oh yes, let me do it, please," says Carl eagerly, taking it from Peter when he comes back and switching it on. "I want to do some things for you, as you've done so much for me. And also, I just want to enjoy making a cup of tea again," he says with a little laugh.

Peter smiles, letting Carl do whatever he likes. It's adorable, and Peter just wants to watch him doing anything at all. This is all very sweetly domestic that it makes Peter feel even more cosy inside.

Tea made, Carl proudly hands Peter a mug, and they head back into the bathroom, where the bathwater looks like it's got to the right level to accommodate two grown men without spilling over the sides. They get in carefully, giggling as they shift around and try to settle comfortably - in the end they realise that the easiest way is for Peter to sit at one end, with Carl in front of him, resting against his chest. He wraps his arms loosely around Carl's waist, occasionally lifting one out of the water to drink his tea - Carl makes a good cup of tea, Peter notes, feeling a similar sense of unexpected relief as when he first heard Carl's music, and enjoyed it. 

"What have you brought to read to me?" he murmurs, his lips pleasingly close to Carl's ear.

" _Brighton Rock_ , apparently," Carl says. "It's actually one of my favourites."

"Mine too," Peter says, delighted at the coincidence. "Nice and romantic, eh?"

Carl chuckles, and starts to read. Peter lies back and relaxes, listening and deliberately not reading the book over Carl's shoulder. He can't remember ever feeling this content in his life. His heart is filled with such deep affection for Carl, and he can feel it blooming further and further into love, moment by moment. 

Peter feels so relaxed he almost wants to sleep, but it would feel like a waste of time to do that here, when he doesn't know how long they have to spend here together. And it's with a certain sense of inevitability that, as they still sit in the bath, he feels that familiar lurching feeling, and then the drop as he gets torn from his idyllic haven with Carl in his arms, and deposited none too gently back into his own real life.

In his own bath, as it turns out, which at least softens the dissonance for him, but he is, of course, alone there, and Carl isn't in sight. 

"Carl?" he calls out, in case he's near enough to hear. "Carl?" he tries again, louder, when there's no response, and Carl does not appear.

He immediately feels a pall of worry settle over him - they've never been separated when they've come back before, and they were so physically close when Peter left, why wouldn't Carl be right here with him on his return? He rushes to get out of the bath and dry and dress himself, but there's still no sign of Carl by the time he hurries out of his room, still calling Carl's name. 

He doesn't find him in any room in the house, and panic rises quickly within him, a cold weight in the pit of his stomach, overwhelming and hopeless. Has he really come back without Carl this time? Is Carl stuck between dimensions, or still in the spirit world? Peter can't get back there without him, and he feels so helpless he's quickly on the verge of tears. Maybe they were only allowed to make the trip so many times, and they've used them all up. Maybe it really was a portal, or a loophole, and it's now closed again, sending everyone back to where they should be - Peter in the land of the living, Carl in his afterlife. Peter had a brief glimpse, a very small sliver, of maybe what heaven should be like, it was literally right there in the palm of his hand, and now what if it's been so cruelly snatched from him again? Peter feels on the edge of despair. It physically aches inside to think that Carl might be gone, he has no idea how to cope with even the possibility. 

But he can't bring himself to believe Carl is gone, not completely. He knows he's often given to catastrophising, so he tries to pull himself together and think positive. There was something real and true and special between him and Carl, or the house wouldn't have called to him, the ring wouldn't have called to him, Carl wouldn't have been brought back by his presence - all of those things wouldn't have gravitated and coalesced together if this wasn't something that was meant to be. Carl will come back, Peter tells himself determinedly. He'll find a way. 

He tries to distract himself from the looming shadow of fear that still threatens him by doing things like checking his phone, and seeing what caretaker Peter has taken care of this time in his absence. He's been gone longer than ever - over a month, he realises, with a start. His phone is hardly full of texts demanding responses from him though - just a few messages from his parents and Amy Jo, and a couple of other friends in London. Now Peter is tucked away here in the countryside, he has the perfect excuse to be absent and not see anyone for long stretches at a time. No one at all seems surprised by him making that a lifestyle choice. 

Caretaker Peter has replied to all his correspondence, in a far more timely fashion than Peter probably would have, even if he doesn't really recognise himself in his own writing - it's rather pale and lifeless, he thinks, but no one seems to mind too much. The biggest surprise he gets from reading his messages is that his younger sister is going to have a baby, but trusty old placeholder Peter has sent appropriate congratulations, and must have even sent a baby shower gift, because he has a sweet thank you text from her. Real Peter has never been as close to her as he is to Amy Jo, but maybe fake Peter can be a better big brother to her than he's ever been.

Fake Peter has also been doing some more decorating. The walls in most of the rooms look freshly painted, some in different colours, the grouting in the bathroom is clean and new, and the suspicious damp patch in one corner of the spare bedroom, that (real) Peter had chosen to ignore, is completely cleared up. When he moved into this place there were a lot of jobs that needed doing, and it seems Peter has found the perfect guy to do them - he never would've guessed it would be himself. 

He belatedly realises he hasn't looked in the garden since he got back. He thinks it's unlikely Carl would be out there and not just come straight inside, but he might as well go and check, and he can feed the cats while he's at it, that will be another welcome distraction. He takes the box of cat biscuits and goes out, calling out for Carl just in case. 

To his undeniable disappointment, even though he wasn't expecting any different, Carl doesn't appear, but the cats do, and Peter crouches to put down some food for them. He holds out his hand to them like he always does, but still the closest they'll come is to give him a cautious sniff. He retreats so they can eat comfortably, and as he watches them he notices something. They keep looking at something, just like they do when Carl is there. 

Peter's heart leaps, and he calls out again. "Carl? Are you here? I can't see you!" He focusses with all his concentration, trying to make something appear, searching for some sign or sound, but there’s nothing. He's sure Carl is here now, he can practically feel him, just like he can when he wakes up with Carl in bed with him - but what if it’s wishful thinking? 

Something suddenly occurs to him, scrabbling around for ideas, and he holds out his left hand in front of him. 

“Carl, if you are here, please, take my hand. Take us back, so I can see you, so I can talk to you. Please, Carl,” he says desperately. 

He’s never been happier or more relieved when he feels the dizziness hit him, the world tips and turns, and he finds his feet… in the rose garden of Hyde Park, with Carl right in front of him, not even a metre away, and holding tight to his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

They look at each other, eyes wide, for a moment, before they fall into each other’s arms gratefully. Peter feels weak with relief, leaning on Carl and feeling him trembling, too, as they support each other. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” Peter whispers. They slowly move apart and sit down on a bench before their knees give way beneath them. “What happened? Where were you? I got back, and you weren’t there.”

“I know, I know,” Carl says desperately. “You just disappeared. I felt you go, and I was still right there in the hotel bathroom, and I knew there was something very wrong. I felt strange and dizzy, a little bit like how it feels when we always come here, but so much worse, and it didn’t go away. I felt like I had pins and needles all over my body, it was horrible - I don’t remember what it was like to die, but it felt like I always imagined dying would. Like I was slowly losing consciousness - and then, when I finally did, I was in your house, and I could see you, but you couldn’t see me, or hear me. I felt distant and detached from everything, like I was sedated. I could see how worried you were, I followed you out to the garden, but I couldn’t do anything to get your attention. I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to let you feel alone.”

“I thought you’d gone forever,” Peter sniffs. “I thought I’d left you behind somehow, and I had. I didn’t know if you’d ever come back, and I couldn’t get back to you. I was so afraid I’d never even see you again, never mind touch you.” 

“I’m worried about that too,” Carl admits. “Whatever went wrong this time, it's never happened before - what if it was a sign of things to come? What if it gets harder and harder to get back there every time, and one day I just… never go back to the real world at all?"

"We only just found each other, I can't bear the thought that I could lose you again so quickly," Peter says, leaning against Carl and burying his face against his shoulder. 

"And now we're here again, and we don't know how long we've got, or what will happen when we get back," Carl says. "Maybe we should just… make the most of it, while we can," he suggests, cautiously.

That brightens Peter's spirits a little. "You're probably right," he says. "After all, the time we spend here seems to be getting longer, too. We shouldn't mope about, when we could be doing anything we like," he goes on, coming around to the idea quickly. 

"Yes, we shouldn't waste the time we have when we actually are together," Carl says, kissing Peter on the temple affectionately. "We can save the worrying for when we're back in the real world," he says firmly. 

Peter agrees. There's not a lot they can do about it, so they might as well just hope they get to spend a long time here before they have to think about it again. 

"You're right," Peter says decisively. "What would you like to do?" He thinks it's important that Carl gets to fulfill any wish he has while he can here, and it always delights Peter to see him so happy. 

"You know what, I'd like to take you for tea at the Ritz," Carl announces, getting up from the bench and holding his hand out to Peter. 

Peter, utterly charmed and melting inside at such gentlemanly conduct, takes Carl's hand and stands up too, not letting go as they start to walk in the direction of Hyde Park Corner and Piccadilly. 

It's a beautiful day, and the scent of the roses is all around them, and Peter is holding the hand of an attractive, witty, intelligent man who he knows for certain now he's fallen in love with. He also feels he must tell him, because Peter never believes in keeping his emotions hidden, especially when the future suddenly looks so uncertain. If something were to happen the next time they go back to the real world, if it were all to end without any further warning, Peter wants Carl to know how he feels. But just as he's about to open his mouth and confess, right there amongst the roses, he hears a voice.

"Carl?" It's a female voice, and they both turn to look where it's coming from.

There’s a lady standing near them, staring at them in disbelief. She’s older but not elderly, maybe in her fifties Peter thinks, and she’s dressed smartly but normally, as if she was maybe going to church or lunch with a friend. Peter looks between her and Carl in bewilderment, trying to fathom how someone here could possibly know Carl. 

It's even a little unsettling, another random unknown about this world suddenly thrown into his spokes - until Carl, after a long and heavy pause, finally says " _Gran?_ "

"Yes! Oh, Carl, it is you! I'm so happy to see you," the lady - Carl's grandma, apparently - exclaims, rushing forward to hug him, tears in her eyes. "But how are you here?" she asks in disbelief. It's a very good question.

Carl takes a deep breath. "I… died," he says simply. "Not very long after… you did," he goes on awkwardly. "It’s a bit complicated to explain, but many years later, Peter bought my house and moved in, and that brought me back. As a... ghost," he says, like he still feels uncomfortable saying it, and understandably so, really. 

"And together, we found our way here," Peter supplies, with a friendly smile. He's eager to impress the in-laws now he has the chance. "It's lovely to meet you," he says, holding his hand out for her to shake. 

She ignores it, and moves straight in to hug him as well. She barely comes up to the middle of Peter's chest, and he smiles at Carl over her head. 

"It's lovely to meet you too, Peter," she says warmly. "I'm so happy that Carl found someone. Someone worth coming back for," she says. 

Peter's head is teeming with jumbled questions, he has no idea which one he should start with. "We were just going to go and have tea - maybe you'd like to join us, and we can talk about all of this more?"

He glances at Carl, who is smiling at him approvingly. Buttering up grandma, that was bound to go over well he thinks, returning Carl's smile. 

"That's very kind of you Peter, that sounds lovely," she says.

Peter and Carl go to carry on walking, expecting her to join alongside them, but she calls them back when they start to move.

"I suppose you boys mustn't know yet, but you don't have to walk or use transport to travel around here," she explains. "If you just think about where you want to go, you can go anywhere you like, if you wish it hard enough."

Peter and Carl look at each other in pleasant surprise. 

"We were going to go to the Ritz, if that sounds acceptable to you," says Carl with a smile. 

"Oh wonderful, I'll have my usual," grandma jokes. "Now, just think about it-"

Peter has a brief moment of wondering whether he needs to be able to picture somewhere in order to get there, because he's never been inside the Ritz so has no idea what it looks like, but it doesn't seem to matter, because right in front of his eyes the scene around him changes like a magic eye picture, and before he's even really noticed it happening, instead of being outside in the rose garden, he's sitting at a round table in an opulent dining room, with Carl to his right and grandma to his left, and an extremely luxurious tea laid out in front of them.

"-And there we are," grandma finishes. 

"That was convenient," says Carl, deadpan.

Grandma laughs. "I've been here a while now, darling. I know all the tricks."

"How did you get here?" Carl asks, and Peter is glad he has, because he's dying to know as well. 

"The same way you did, I suppose," she reflects, pouring them all a cup of tea. "Or more likely, the same way Peter did."

"You met a ghost?" Peter blurts out. 

"Yes," she says serenely. "I moved house after Carl's grandad died. A lovely little cottage it was, do you remember it Carl? Well, almost as soon as I moved in, I started to notice little things around the house - the smell of pipe smoke, or the faint sound of whistling, always a cheerful tune. And then one day, I walked into my kitchen and he was sitting at the table, just as clear as we are now. Thomas," she says, with a fond smile. "It was his house, once upon a time, and he wanted to meet me. We hit it off right away, he made me feel at home. He was such a comfort, he stopped me feeling lonely. And over time, we got closer. We fell in love. We wanted to be together," she explains, and Peter feels a pang in his heart that he understands completely. "And completely by accident - which I'm sure was the same for you too - we discovered we could come to this place, together."

"Yes, it was the same for us," Peter explains eagerly. "I bought this ring in an antique shop, and-" He suddenly remembers what Carl told him about the ring, back when he told him what he'd found out from the antique seller. "This ring was yours, wasn't it?" he asks softly, putting his hand out towards her so she can see it.

She takes his hand delicately in hers. "It was," she murmurs. "I made sure Carl would get it, right before I left."

"Left?" Carl asks, looking puzzled. "You gave me the ring years before you passed away."

She smiles gently. "Yes, physically, but my spirit was here, all that time," she explains. "I left the ring behind, in the real world, so I would never have to go back there anymore."

Carl is staring at the ring sitting on Peter's finger. Peter can see he's trying to process what she's told them, so he stays quiet and drinks his tea, even though he still has hundreds of questions he wants the answers to. Carl probably has more important ones. 

"I understand now," he murmurs eventually. "We didn't know what happened. Some days you would be like you'd always been, then for periods of time it was like you were distant, like your mind was far away. We thought maybe you weren't well, but you weren't confused, and you were always able to look after yourself. You seemed settled in the cottage, so we thought maybe you were just sad because of losing grandad. And then, after a point… you were always in that faraway place," Carl says quietly, the pieces slotting together. 

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry if I worried you," she frets. "I didn't have any idea what my body was doing when I was gone, or what I was like. I always came back to a tidy house and an orderly appearance, so I always thought things must be going well without me even needing to be there."

“I’ve been finding that as well,” Peter interjects. “The guy who stays behind while I’m here is much better at organising my life than I ever have been.” It’s interesting to find out what that guy might be like, though, from what Carl has said about his grandma - quiet, withdrawn maybe, like her mind was elsewhere. That doesn't sound that bad - much less outlandish and provocative than a lot of the things he's done in his life have been at least. 

"That actually makes me feel a lot better," says Carl, addressing his grandma still. "To know that you were here, with the person you loved. I'm glad," he says with a smile. "You had a chance at happiness, and you took it. It was very brave of you."

"I'm glad you understand," she says, smiling softly. 

"So… You chose to come here to stay, deliberately," Peter says thoughtfully. "What made you decide to do that, in the end?" 

"You can't keep jumping between worlds forever," she sighs. "Or at least, Thomas couldn't. Sometimes I would get back and he didn't come with me, and I wouldn't see him again for days. And when I did see him, he would be faint for a while, like a photograph developing, very slowly. The more his spirit came here, the more attached it got to this world, and the harder it got to get back to the other one. We were both so worried, we asked everyone here that we could find, until someone eventually told us that one day he just wouldn’t come back with me at all. And how could I let that happen? How could I let him slip through my fingers? I just couldn't bear the thought of it."

He and Carl were right, Peter thinks, one day all of this will stop, and they won't get a say in when it will happen. He looks over at Carl, who's sitting rigidly, lips pressed together tightly. 

"Neither can I," Peter says sincerely. 

"And of course, there's always the promise of seeing everyone from the other world again one day," she says, more lightly. "As you'll have noticed, time passes differently here, it doesn't feel like as long as it is in the other world. And now I'm here with my beloved grandson, and I couldn't be more delighted."

That makes Carl smile, and Peter feels a tension drop away from both of them. 

"Where is Thomas now?" Peter suddenly thinks to ask.

"Oh, I was on my way to meet him when I bumped into you boys," she says, so casually that it makes Peter and Carl laugh. "But he won't mind. We've been here a while now, we don't need to spend every moment together - we can always find each other," she explains, smiling. She finishes her tea, and looks like she's making ready to leave, but Peter has one more question.

"When you came here, for the last time - you left the ring behind," he says. "So how exactly did you get here? How did you give Carl the ring?"

"I wrote myself a note," she says simply. "The me that was left behind seemed to still be able to read and speak and function. So I wrote down what I wanted her to do, and I put the ring on top of the note on the table - and then Thomas and I both touched it at the same time, and… that was it," she explains.

Peter can see Carl looking at him quizzically out of the corner of his eye, but at the same time, grandma is getting up to leave.

"I suppose I'd better go find Thomas," she says fondly. 

Peter and Carl get up and she hugs them both, holding onto Carl for a long time.

"It was so wonderful to see you," she says, her eyes shining with emotion. "I'm so glad you found someone to come here with. I'm so glad you're happy."

"Me too," Carl murmurs. "And next time we'll have to meet Thomas, too."

"Oh, I do hope so," she says, taking her leave with a final kiss to his cheek. 

They sit back at the table, and Peter waits for Carl to break the silence. He doesn't know exactly how Carl is going to be feeling, after such a momentous and emotional meeting, so he stays quiet.

"How incredible," Carl exclaims, almost immediately. "I can't believe I was able to see her again. That was such a wonderful surprise."

Peter is relieved that Carl is so ebullient. "You know, I wonder if there's a genetic component to coming here," he suggests. "Maybe the ability to come to the spirit world runs in families."

"Maybe," Carl says excitedly. "I'm just so happy to know she was alright, and has been this whole time. I was always worried she must be lonely, but she was here with her fancy man the whole time." He gives a little merry laugh, and it makes Peter's heart feel warm.

"Now I've met a member of your family too, we're even," he says, smiling. 

"I'm glad she got to meet you, too," Carl says, meeting Peter's gaze. "I'm proud that she got to see that I found someone, someone I'm really serious about. That never happened before," he says sincerely, and Peter feels that flutter inside his chest again, feels himself slip deeper into love. 

"Do you want to carry on this discussion somewhere more private?" Peter murmurs.

Carl smiles, a twinkle in his eye. "That's a fine idea," he agrees. "Shall we try what we did before? Just think of a bedroom-"

And around them, the scene is already shifting and sliding, but it's nowhere near as disorienting or uncomfortable as getting to the spirit world in the first place - it's just a gentle transition, and in a few moments they're in a grand suite with a huge bed and views over Piccadilly. The tea table has come with them, which amuses and delights Peter, especially as it seems to have gained a bottle of champagne as well, which Carl immediately seizes. 

"No no, hold on a sec," Peter urges. "Let's wait till we've got our clothes off for that," he giggles, already starting to unfasten his shirt.

"I like your thinking," Carl chuckles, also beginning to strip.

They find more extremely comfortable robes in this room - Peter doesn't think he'll ever get tired of that little touch - and he lounges on the bed and allows Carl to finally open the champagne. It all feels so very decadent, but so rock‘n’roll at the same time, and Peter feels like he’s taken to this lifestyle as if he was born to it. 

“I find I quite like being a rockstar’s groupie,” he says dreamily, lying flat on his back on the bed invitingly. 

After a few glasses of champagne he feels mellow and relaxed and undeniably flirty, he can’t help it, and he knows Carl feels the same when he slides a warm hand up Peter’s inner thigh. Peter shivers with delight, a spark of arousal lighting up inside him, and he parts his legs shamelessly, encouraging Carl to carry on.

Carl does, letting his fingertips trail up and caress the soft skin of the top of Peter’s thighs as gently as a feather, taking his time over it, teasing him. Peter’s breath catches in his throat, it’s such a simple touch, but he’s so turned on by it he can’t move, he just wants to let Carl keep touching him, however he wants. Carl leans down and kisses him, then, and Peter reaches up to put his arms around his neck, kissing him back passionately, trying to convey just how much he wants him. But at the same time, he rather likes when Carl just keeps teasing, his hand now sneaking up, undoing Peter’s robe and exposing him so Carl can wrap his hand around his cock and stroke it lazily as they kiss. It’s deliciously frustrating, and Peter squirms with arousal, he’s getting more and more wound up as Carl plays with him, but it feels like a worthwhile game, it feels so maddeningly good. 

Carl’s mouth moves to kiss his throat and neck, and Peter gasps, his breathing shallow, his pulse racing, his eyes shut tight. He arches into Carl’s touch reflexively, his body wanting more, and Peter can’t hold out much longer, he’s never been a patient person, and he can’t stop himself from murmuring, “Please Carl, oh, _please_.”

Carl lifts his head and looks into Peter’s eyes, grinning. “Oh, you want more do you?” he whispers, and Peter moans out loud, thrusting into Carl’s still-languid hand. “Alright.”

He moves down Peter’s body, surprisingly quickly, but he’s much slower again when he slides Peter’s cock past his lips, slowly taking him into his soft, perfect mouth, and Peter’s eyes roll back in his head and he groans, weak with the height of his arousal. Carl sucks him slowly, taking his time over him, treating him so carefully and so lovingly, like he’s enjoying himself, and enjoying making Peter feel good. And he does, it feels so exquisite when Carl takes him in deeper, Peter’s toes curl and his fingers clutch the sheet under him, he’s fit to burst with the slick, wet pleasure of Carl’s gorgeous mouth on him. 

He’s so caught up in it that he’s not prepared when he feels Carl slowly start to slide a finger into him. He cries out at the redoubled pleasure of it, the shock of incredible feeling that surges in him, and he automatically lifts his hips against Carl’s mouth, pushing deeper, greedily chasing even more, though it’s already so, so good. 

So good in fact that he can’t stand it for too long, it’s too dangerous, he doesn’t want to let it be over too soon. He has to tell Carl to stop.

“I’d rather come with you inside me,” he says breathlessly, and it’s Carl’s turn to groan, resting his cheek on Peter’s stomach while he calms himself. 

It only takes him a moment, though, before he’s ready to go. He tosses his robe off and onto the floor, and, with a little more urgency, gets on top of Peter’s waiting body and kisses him hotly.

Peter wriggles with delight beneath him, more than ready when Carl finally pushes inside him, all the way to the hilt. Peter groans in satisfaction, it feels so good after the slow touches and the teasing that made him ache with the need for this. Carl breaks their kiss and lifts his head, looking into Peter's eyes with such intensity that Peter feels like he must see everything inside him, all the love for Carl and the swirling emotion that surges within him, drawing him closer and closer to Carl. Peter has never felt so close, so connected to anyone. He's never felt as laid bare as he does right now, and it's the most indescribably wonderful feeling that just heightens the physical pleasure that's mounting between them with every subtle shift and touch and movement. 

Peter feels so sensitive, so receptive to every sensation coursing through him now. He feels so full up with it, and Carl is moving inside him so perfectly, giving him exactly what he wants, how he wants it. He reaches up and cups Carl's face in his hands, cradling it for a lingering moment, caressing his cheek before he slides his fingers up and into Carl's hair, bringing him down so their lips can meet again, kissing more passionately now, sparks catching hold between them.

Carl moves faster inside him, and Peter moans at every shock of pleasure that jolts and spreads through him, higher and hotter and taking him over. He can quickly feel himself getting close, it's just too good and too much now, and he wants to ride it, he takes himself in his hand and strokes, just enough, he doesn’t need much more - and he comes easily, after everything Carl has done to him and is still doing to him.

Carl shudders in his arms, moving more erratically, and all Peter can do is lie there, blissed out, as Carl comes inside him, twitching against him and finally lying still, just as limp and boneless as Peter is under him. 

Just like last time, Peter doesn't want Carl to move, just wants to stay pressed close to him for as long as they comfortably can, especially as they don't know how much longer they have. 

"I don't want to leave," Peter murmurs, after some minutes of just lying there, enjoying the warmth of Carl's body, of feeling him breathing. He's quiet again for a moment, but eventually he can't hold back from articulating the thought that's been growing in his mind ever since the seed was planted, not so long ago. "I wouldn't have to, you know. Now we know there's a way that I can stay."

Carl does move then, shifts off Peter to lie on his side next to him, so he can look at him. When Peter turns to look back at him, his eyes are wide.

"I knew you were thinking about that, when you asked how it could be done," he says softly. "I wish we didn't have to leave either, more than anything, but if you can never go back, ever… I know what that's like, to suddenly disappear and be gone. To never be able to see your family again, Peter. And to leave them wondering what happened - even though you'd be physically there, you wouldn't be the same, just like my grandma wasn't."

"But she did see you again," Peter points out. "And also, now we know more, I could prepare. I could write my family letters or something, telling them what had happened - of course it's unbelievable, but that's what they've said about a lot of things in my life. I think they'll like quiet, organised, faraway Peter, he's a lot less of a worry than I ever have been."

Carl can't help but smile, but it's bittersweet. "But you'd be missing out on so much of your life. You could go on to meet some other nice living person to be with, to fall in love with, to be happy with. Someone a lot easier."

Peter laughs softly, bringing his hand up to cup Carl's cheek. "No relationship I've ever had in my life has been easy," he says truthfully. "Honestly, you're one of the least complicated people I've ever been with, so you can imagine the rest," he says, smiling. He pauses, another thought clamouring to be let out, until he can't contain it, it feels right. "And I've tried being with dozens of people, but I've never ever been as happy with anyone as I am with you," he says sincerely. "I've never felt this way about anyone, the way I feel about you. I've never felt like I fitted together with anyone like I do with you. I would fall in love with people for five minutes, five times a day, but it's nothing like how I feel about you. This is real, Carl, and I love you, completely." 

"Peter," Carl says, his voice cracking as he gathers Peter in his arms and hugs him tight. "I love you too, and I want nothing more than to be here, with you, forever. I'd rather go back to the non-existence I had before, than be stuck here, or anywhere, without you. But I would hate to be responsible for you doing something you could regret."

"It would be my choice," Peter says gently. His heart is thudding with elation that Carl loves him, it's all he can think about, and it just makes him want to be here with him even more. "I feel like I've been waiting all my life for you. It just feels right, and coming here feels right too. It feels like my life was already set up perfectly for it - I've never settled, nothing has ever felt like it was meant to be for me, and maybe this is why. This is what I was waiting for."

"It does feel… destined, somehow," Carl murmurs. "With everything that had to happen to lead us here."

" _Yes_ ," Peter agrees wholeheartedly. "And you know, do you really want to leave this place and go back to somewhere where you can't eat, or drink, or touch anything for yourself? Where we can't touch, can't kiss, can't make love, can't feel the warmth of each other, ever again?"

"Of course not," Carl says emphatically. "I haven't got anything to lose by staying here and never going back. I'm already dead. But you're not, Peter. Think about it, for a while. Think about what you'd be leaving behind. Think about whether I'm worth it," he says, and his smile at least makes Peter think he's half-joking. 

"I haven't seen anything so far that makes me think you're not," says Peter, returning his smile. He turns and leans closer to Carl, resting their foreheads together on the pillow. "But the next time we go back to the real world, I wouldn't want to try coming here just to visit ever again, now I know that one day you might not come back with me. It's too big a risk."

"I know," Carl whispers. "I'd rather be there with you and not be able to touch you, than keep taking that risk. I'm already scared for the next time we go back," he admits. 

"Me too," says Peter, squeezing his eyes shut. "But I hope that it won't be too late already - you not coming back with me has only happened once, hopefully that won't be enough for you to be stuck here. Your grandma said they travelled a few times after it started happening to Thomas, right? And at least this time I'll know that maybe I won't see you for a little while, and I'll try not to panic right away. But I'll miss you," he says passionately, already feeling emotional knowing what's to come. 

"I'll try my best to come back with you," promises Carl. "After all, lots of things seem to happen here if you just think in the right way," he says, with another small smile. 

Peter's heart aches for Carl, for the uncertainty he must feel. After all, Peter at least knows he'll be going back to his house, his life, a familiar world. Carl doesn't know what's going to happen to him, and even if he stays here he'll be in a place that's still almost entirely new to him, that he's still getting used to. And he'll be alone, with his only possibility of familiar contact entirely left to chance. 

"It'll be fine," he says determinedly. "And we shouldn't waste our time worrying about it anyway, should we? What would you like to do? Have a bath? Have a cup of tea? Eat another cucumber sandwich?" he suggests, starting to smile a bit more certainly. 

Carl chuckles. "Those all sound like good options," he says. "But actually, I think I'd like to go back out into London with you. We didn't even get to walk down Piccadilly earlier," he points out. "And walking around London is one of my favourite things to do."

"Me too," agrees Peter. "Especially at night. Maybe it can just be night whenever we want," he ponders.

"Let's find out," Carl says, smiling and starting to get up. "But first, I want to have a shower," he adds, leaving Peter in no doubt that he's very much invited.

Peter very much enjoys taking the opportunity to soap Carl carefully in the spacious shower, smoothing his hands over Carl's firm muscles, and his softer bits too. It's equally enjoyable seeing Carl's delight at another experience that he hasn't got to have for decades, feeling the warm water run over his skin.

"And it's the perfect pressure as well!" he enthuses. "Not like the weak spray you used to get in my day." 

Peter can't help but laugh. Carl luxuriates in the shower as long as he can - their skin doesn't even start to wrinkle here, Peter notes - but eventually they're both ready to get out and leave the hotel. Peter actually feels excited - he lived in London for years, knows it well, but it feels like a whole new adventure, going out there with Carl. He feels like there's bound to be so much more that they can discover, together. 

When they eventually step outside it is dark, just like they hoped, and they joyfully set off up Piccadilly, hand in hand. Peter suddenly wonders whose London they're in - is it Carl's, from thirty years ago, or is it Peter's? The city changes all the time, after all. Maybe they're in a London that only exists here, like a movie version, with all the best and most attractive bits. But it doesn't really matter to Peter whether he can see the Gherkin or the Shard, because that's not the kind of thing they're looking for anyway. The buildings of Piccadilly are the same, Piccadilly Circus is the same - the ground level details aren't important, and they don't notice them anyway, they're too caught up in a grander, bigger London than the one either of them lived in. The history and the romance and the essence of it are what they're both captivated by, and it's that that makes it their own.

"Do you want to go down to the river?" asks Peter. "As long as that's not too upsetting for you," he adds quickly. 

Carl smiles. "It's not, don't worry," he says. "I love the river. Ironic really," he says dryly. "That must've been why I wanted to get so close to it."

"Well, let's give you some better associations with it," Peter says, smiling.

They walk along the Thames path, admiring the lights reflected in the water, and the stars in the clear sky. Peter holds tight to Carl's hand, enjoying being with him, enjoying being in love. That's the only thing that matters to him right now, and he indulges in the feeling, filling his heart and spilling out into the whole of him. 

They find a spot to sit and just admire the water, arms around each other, and Peter has never felt such peace and contentment before in his life. He makes sure to hold onto it, to fully understand it and immerse himself in it, because he knows, somehow, that the jump is coming imminently, and he tries to brace for it.

"I love you," he whispers to Carl. "And I'll wait for you."

"I love you too," Carl says fiercely. "Look for me, even if you don't see me straight away. I'll come!" 

Peter kisses him one more time, and at least he's prepared this time when the inevitable shift hits and he's tossed back out into the real world.

This time he's not in his house, though, or even in his garden. He realises he's in a second hand bookshop that he knows is in Marlborough, and he seems to be sitting behind the counter, with a till, a calculator and a copy of _Anna Karenina_ on the little counter in front of him. 

While his brain reboots itself and tries to catch up, his first thought is immediately for Carl, and his stomach lurches as he wonders whether he’s come back with him, or whether he will, even if he hasn’t already. He knows it will be a desperate and uneasy waiting time, starting right now, when he can’t even go home yet and check to see if there’s any sign. But in the meantime, he supposes at least he has something to occupy himself with - starting by figuring out why he’s here and what he’s doing. 

As his mind starts to clear and recalibrate, he realises that while he's been gone, it seems that caretaker Peter has… got himself a job? Which is something that Peter himself hadn't even considered, though he reasons that he's been pretty busy with other matters since he moved here. He checks his phone, and the first thing he notices is that he's been gone six weeks this time. By piecing together text messages and entries in his calendar - all entered by other Peter, because the real one has never put a single event in it - he figures out that he must've been working there about three weeks already, part time. Seems like a nice little gig, Peter thinks - the place is stacked floor to ceiling with books on higgledy-piggledy shelves, the kind of place he can always spend hours as a customer - and now he can do that, and get paid for it as well. Presumably. What a great idea, Peter thinks, giving his alternate self a pat on the back. That'll keep the bills paid. And Peter is sure the shop won't be too busy, so he'll be free to read and daydream and drink tea and have intense discussions with other book nerds. He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times in his life, so he knows what kind of experience customers want in a place like this. Yet again, it seems caretaker Peter has been making much better life decisions than the real one ever has, and following through on them too. He must have come across well enough for the shop owner to give him the job, so he hopes he won't ruin that when he actually meets them. 

It starts to dawn on him that he doesn't have any idea how to use the till, or what else he needs to do, but he's sure he'll have developed some muscle memory and ingrained habits by now. And how hard can it be, anyway? He’s worked in retail before, in places far busier and less pleasant than this, so he’s sure he’ll get to grips with it soon enough. He decides to have a good look around the shop, to see what books they have, both in case customers ask, and also to compile his own reading list. He hopes he hasn't agreed to be paid in books or something ridiculous like that, but he also secretly thinks that wouldn't be so bad.

At least finding his way around the shop, and trying to get a handle on what's happened to get him here, successfully helps him take his mind off thinking about Carl. From looking at a small handwritten piece of cardboard stuck in the window, he finds out that the shop expectedly closes at 5 o'clock, and it's just after 3 now, so he just has a couple of hours more to hang on. When he gets home he's going to watch the cats in the garden like a hawk, to see if they seem to have spotted anything or are watching something Peter can't see. 

His phone tells him it’s a Wednesday, so he’s not surprised that only a couple of customers visit the shop in his remaining time there, and neither of them either buy anything, or engage him in conversation. He's relieved, frankly, because even though he usually loves discussing books, he has other things on his mind right now. At least before the end of the day he finds a notebook that his alternate self has obviously written some instructions and reminders in, explaining how to cash up and how to set the alarm. It's maybe a little weird, Peter reflects, to find things written in his own handwriting that he has no memory of writing - but on the other hand, it's far from the first time that he's found a notebook and opened it to see a bunch of his own scribbled notes he can't remember, or, sometimes, even understand. That's just part of the writer's experience, he thinks to himself loftily. 

Finally it's 5 o'clock, and as no one has phoned him or come in to tell him otherwise, he assumes he's free to go. He cashes up the till, turns off all the lights and appliances, sets the alarm, locks all the doors - then looks around for his car for five whole minutes, before he realises it's either been stolen, or he must have walked here. It's not that far from home, and he supposes alternate Peter must have been getting some exercise at least, but he really could do with not having to wait an extra twenty minutes before finally getting to his house. He walks as fast as he can, now thinking only of what he might find when he gets there, whether Carl will have appeared. He tries to temper his expectations, telling himself sternly not to get his hopes up, but he's not sure it's working. His heart is thudding and he fumbles in his haste to find his keys and unlock his front door, and he rushes around the house, turning on all the lights and calling out for Carl. 

He's nowhere to be seen. Peter goes out to the garden, still calling Carl's name, but he's not there either, and the cats just look up at him briefly, then stalk away into the bushes. 

Peter isn't surprised, but it's still a devastating feeling to finally have his fears confirmed. He goes back inside, and cries. All he can do is wait. 

Peter lets his emotions have full rein, until his tears dry up, leaving him with just a sick, leaden feeling in his stomach that he doesn't think will go away until he sees Carl again. His hands tremble a little as he makes himself a cup of tea and pours himself a whisky as well, and he takes them up to his bedroom and gets under the covers, just wanting to sleep for some escape from the worry and the waiting and the uncertainty. But even if he sleeps, he won't see Carl in his dreams - or even if he does, it'll just be a shadow, a dream version just conjured from Peter's memories. A cypher. And that would probably hurt more than nothing at all. 

For the same reason, he isn't sure whether it will be too painful to listen to Carl's music, or watch any videos of him, but Peter can't help at least trying - he just wants to see Carl and hear his voice, to be reminded of any aspect of him that he can, so he puts a YouTube playlist on his computer, and watches until it gets too much to bear. He can't even bring himself to eat anything, he just feels too upset to have any appetite, so he just gets ready for bed early and tries to escape into sleep. 

When he wakes up in the morning, he can't even remember his dreams. He feels sure that if Carl had appeared in them, even just as a character, he would remember. He can't decide if it's a disappointment or a mercy, not to see an imitation Carl from his imagination - it would have been wonderful to see his face, but would have felt strange and jarring to know it wasn't really him. 

His calendar tells him he's working today as well, so he needs to get up and ready to go out in good time, for the first time in quite a long while. At least he went to sleep early enough last night that he has time to check the garden again before he goes - he puts some food down for the cats to lure them out, but when they come they just go straight to it and eat, ignoring Peter and their surroundings. Disappointed again, and growing ever more anxious, Peter gets in the car and drives to the shop today, just so he can get home quicker at the end of the day. 

Thursday is no busier than Wednesday. Peter distracts himself by reading _Anna Karenina_ and drinks endless cups of tea, punctuated by only a few browsers. At least they buy some books today, so Peter can feel like the shop can afford to pay him - even if it does take him a few tries to correctly figure out exactly what to do with the till, and the credit card machine. But no one yells at him or looks at him funny, and Peter is good enough at charming people and winging it that he thinks he manages to not come across like he's just dropped to Earth from an alien planet, even if that's what he feels like.

Nevertheless, he's extremely relieved when the day is over again, and he races home as quickly as he can, to see if the cats can give him any hints yet. But there's still no sign, and Peter can't help it, he sheds a few more tears. He tries to tell himself that it's only been a day, Carl's grandma said it might take much longer than that - but Peter already feels hopeless and hollow inside, his mind beyond distraction now he's here at home, where Carl should be too. 

He at least manages to eat something tonight - he was going for something from the freezer, but it seems that caretaker Peter has expanded his cookery repertoire from M&S quiches, because there's a Tupperware full of stew in the fridge that Peter microwaves and eats directly from the container, in bed. His alternate self is a decent cook, it turns out, and Peter wishes he were here to do the tidying and washing up, too. 

He falls asleep early again, grateful at least for that, and tonight he does dream. He's back in the concert hall, where he and Carl first dreamed together, and it stings bitterly this time, to be here alone, just like he was once before, when he slept and Carl didn't. It's empty now - it looks disused even, dusty and unloved, and that's even sadder. He wanders around a little, passing into the backstage area, but the memories are too strong, he can't handle being there without Carl, so he comes back out, and sits on the edge of the stage, just letting the dream flow around him. It feels like so long ago that he joined Carl on this stage - and he supposes it is, in his real world life. But the time he's spent in the spirit world has been worth all of those days, even though it's been condensed. 

He's lost in thought when he realises he can hear footsteps, quick footsteps, on the stage behind him. His heart jumps, not even daring to hope - for all he felt relieved last night that he didn't dream of Carl, now Peter's actually dreaming he longs to see him, even if it's just a version thrown up by his subconscious. 

Someone sits down next to him, and Peter is almost afraid to look and find out what trick his mind is playing - but he feels a hand cover his where it's resting on the stage beside him, and he turns his head to see Carl, his face writ with deep emotion. 

Peter feels an overwhelming tide rush immediately over him, and he throws himself into Carl's arms, tears spilling over again. 

"I'm so happy to see you," he whispers. "Even if you're really just a dream this time."

"I'm not a dream, Peter," Carl says in a rush. "I'm really here, in your dream with you. In our dream."

"You're back?" Peter exclaims, pulling back from their embrace to look into Carl's face.

Carl nods, a wide and genuine smile spreading across his face. "Everything was very fuzzy for a while. But suddenly I found myself standing in your room, and you were asleep. So I just got onto the bed with you, and lay there until I fell asleep too."

Peter can't stop the happy tears from flowing. "I didn't know if you were coming back at all," he admits.

"Me neither," says Carl. "I feel like I lost some time I can't account for. But I made it in the end," he says, hugging Peter to him again, like he doesn't want to let him go. "Just remember, when you wake up, you still might not be able to see me. So don't panic," he says soothingly, and Peter is grateful for the reminder. "But I'll be there," Carl says emphatically, looking into his eyes. 

Peter is overcome with the desire to kiss him, so he does, full of all his overflowing feelings of love and relief and pure joy at seeing Carl again, and knowing he'll be able to see him and talk to him in his real life soon, too. 

He wakes up shortly after, but he can hardly even feel disappointed at being once again taken from Carl's arms, because at least _Carl is here_ , he's not trapped somewhere where Peter will never see him again. He's never felt relief like it before. 

He opens his eyes, turns to face the empty side of the bed, and says, "Good morning." He pauses. "You might think I'd feel silly saying these things out loud, when I know you can't respond. But I'm no stranger to talking to myself," he says, chuckling. "I could carry on all day. But I have to get up and go to work. Can you believe it?! I know I couldn't," he says. "I'm working in a bookshop, seemingly. It's pretty nice," he explains, smiling. "But I'll leave the TV on for you while I'm out." He can only assume that Carl is there, awake, and can hear him, but that's OK, Peter is just grateful and glad to know it's possible at all. 

He goes to shower, and wonders, with a naughty smile to himself, if Carl is watching him. That inspires some interesting possibilities in his mind that he might think more about later, if he dares. He gets dressed and remembers to leave his computer on in his bedroom, and the TV on in the living room again, so Carl has a variety of entertainment.

"Don't forget to say hello to the cats," he says with a smile as he gets ready to leave. "I think they've missed you." He blows a kiss into the hallway, and steps outside the door, feeling like nothing today could possibly ruin his euphoric mood.

Today he feels just as impatient for the day to be over so he can get home, but at least today that's for much more pleasant reasons. Maybe by the time he gets home, he'll be able to see some sign of Carl, or to hear him - but even if not, he just wants to be there where he can feel his presence and talk to him, even if Carl can't talk back. That's probably much worse for Carl than it is for him, Peter knows. 

It's a busier day at the shop today, comparatively, and there are some customers who must definitely have seen and spoken to Peter before, because they greet him in a friendly way and engage him in familiar conversation. Peter has no idea what they're talking about, but as someone working in a shop, who only sees people irregularly, he can at least get away with asking them to remind him of things that he doesn't know, even if caretaker Peter does - he definitely didn't write any of this stuff down. But maybe his customers find this forgetfulness endearing, because no one seems perturbed or confused by it, they just cheerfully embrace the opportunity to retell their stories. Peter supposes that's most of the point anyway, just having a friendly chat. Just like him talking to Carl, without knowing if he's really listening or not - it's not going to put him off.

It passes the time quicker anyway, and at the end of the day Peter's week is over, and he doesn't have to work again until next Wednesday. He rushes home to check how Carl is doing, calling out to him as soon as he opens the front door. 

He turns to go into the living room, and there's a figure - not solid, not opaque, but definitely visible, and definitely Carl. His heart leaps again, and he laughs delightedly.

"Carl!" he exclaims. "You look like - like a real ghost! You could've frightened me," he teases. 

To his frustration, he can't quite make out Carl's facial expressions properly - it's like looking at something in his peripheral vision, as soon as he tries to focus, what he's looking at slips away just out of sight. But it's certainly better than nothing.

He can see that Carl is speaking, but his voice is fainter than usual, and it takes a minute for Peter’s hearing to adjust so he can understand him properly.

"Think how weird it is for me," Carl says. "I look down and I can see the floor through my feet. It's very disconcerting."

"Do you feel OK?" Peter asks in concern.

"Yes, I mean, I feel the same as I have the whole time I've been dead," Carl says. "But I'm just so glad to be here."

"Me too," says Peter sincerely. "And I'm so glad to see you, and to be able to have a conversation with you. I felt so awful without you here - even though I knew you probably wouldn’t be here straight away, the uncertainty was horrible. I basically cried myself to sleep,” he admits, feeling tears start to well up again just thinking about it.

“I’m so sorry I made you wait,” Carl says. “It felt even stranger than last time. I had that same pins and needles feeling, but even stronger, and the woozy feeling as if I was going to pass out - and I must have, but I don’t know where I was. There’s a blank spot, like I was just… nowhere. Like trying to remember something, but it’s been completely erased. It’s a little scary,” he says. 

“Of course, it must be,” says Peter. “I don’t want you to go through that again. We mustn’t visit anymore, even though it’s hard to be here with you and not touch you.” It felt easier to say it when they were in the spirit world, and he could still touch Carl and kiss him and go anywhere he liked with him, but they can’t be tempted and give in, even though they’ve got used to spending far more time there than they have here. “It’s not worth the pain for you, and the fear for both of us,” he says. Of course, he knows there’s a permanent solution to the problem, where they get to be together in the spirit world without the worry of coming back - but Carl asked him to think hard about it, so he will. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to think of anything else. 

Carl nods. “I’m just relieved to be back with you,” he says. “And you know… Don’t rush into any decisions,” he goes on, and Peter feels like his mind has been read. “We’ll just spend some more time here, together. Maybe you’ll decide you can’t stand me after a few more weeks,” he says, but Peter can tell that Carl doesn’t really believe that any more than Peter does.

Over the course of the evening, as they sit and watch TV, Peter realises that Carl is gradually becoming more solid. He can't see it happening in front of his eyes, but every time he looks away from the screen and at Carl, he can see more of Carl, and less of what's behind him. It's pleasing, and it's a relief, but it's still tempered with the knowledge that no matter how tangible Carl might appear, Peter still can't touch him. 

Carl watches him eat dinner enviously. 

"I miss food," he sighs. "I don't feel hungry, of course. But it's not like when you're ill and don't want to eat at all. You don't think about chewing when you're doing it, but I even miss that."

In sympathy, Peter opens a bottle of wine so Carl can smell it, but it seems to have only a limited cheering effect. 

"It just reminds me of drinking champagne with you in bed, in a suite at the Ritz," Carl says wistfully. 

"That was lovely," says Peter dreamily. "I guess it's hard for you, having a thing, and then it being taken away, over and over again."

"And the worst is not being able to hold you," Carl says, and Peter feels a deep pang of longing in his heart.

"For me too," he says, looking into Carl's eyes. At least he can see that their blue has returned now.

"Let's see where our dreams take us tonight, anyway," Carl says, with a hopeful smile.

As it turns out, when he goes to sleep, Peter finds himself in a confusing kind of place. He doesn't immediately realise where he is, but he can see that he's alone, and that sparks a certain feeling of automatic panic that he tries to tamp down. After all, Carl can't have gone anywhere - maybe he just couldn't fall asleep again, or he's waiting somewhere else, like when they were in Thailand. So he starts to look around, and it dawns on him that he's in Germany, in one of the army houses he lived in briefly as a child. That's actually rather embarrassing, he thinks, that Carl might have to see the comparatively dull innards of Peter's memories, when Carl's are full of exotic hotel resorts and adrenaline-filled gigs and backstage thrills. 

But at least he knows his way around, Peter thinks. He goes upstairs to check the bedrooms, even as he cringes thinking of Carl being there, but he isn't anyway. Peter is quickly getting frustrated, having to play this dumb guessing game again, hide and seek that neither of them wants to play. He wanders outside, along the street where all the houses look exactly the same, just how he remembers it, though he didn't realise he did remember it, until he got here. It's drab and dull and Peter feels increasingly uncomfortable even being here himself, never mind having Carl be here too. He doesn't have any idea where to go, where Carl might be, so he just keeps walking aimlessly - there's nothing really here, not much to do. He finds himself heading towards the primary school he went to for a time, and he thinks maybe Carl is there somewhere, but, after spending tedious fruitless minutes searching inside the building, the classrooms, the dining hall, he gives up, feeling like he's wasting his time. 

He goes back outside and carries on a short distance further, to the playground - where, at last, he finds Carl, sitting on a swing and looking extremely bemused.

"I just stayed here and didn't move, because I had no idea where I was," Carl explains as he sees Peter approaching. "I still don't. Where are we?"

"Germany, on a military base," Peter confesses ruefully. "My family lived here for a while when I was a kid. I feel like I've got to apologise, this is a pretty austere place to end up."

Carl laughs softly. "Don't be daft, you don't need to be sorry," he says. "At least we found each other," he adds, getting up and giving Peter a hug and a kiss. 

"It's a bit of a comedown though isn't it," Peter says. "From Thailand and the Ritz to… this." Even as he finishes speaking, he can see the rainclouds starting to gather above them. "We should probably go indoors somewhere," he suggests, feeling increasingly frustrated and even pissed off by the pathetic setting his subconscious has conjured. 

It starts raining before they even get all the way back to Peter's house - as usual, time and distance stretch out weirdly in the dream, giving them a long, tedious period of walking back past the uniform blocks that are the army housing. At least getting rained on in the dream isn't quite as uncomfortable as it is in real life, because at least he doesn't really feel wet or cold, but he's definitely aware of the rain falling on and around him, and it's just as miserable as in reality. 

At least when they finally reach the house it gives him the chance to say, "Shall we get out of these not-really-very-wet clothes?" just because it feels like the natural course of things. Carl giggles, and starts to comply, but before Peter can even get his shirt off, he finds himself blinking and awake.

"Goddammit," he mumbles, and Carl stirs beside him, waking up as well. "Sorry about that," he says, feeling kind of like he did when he was a teenager and his mum embarrassed him in front of his mates. 

Carl just smiles. "What was wrong with that?" he says gently. "It was interesting to see a part of your memories. So far it's all been a bit me me me," he says with a sheepish smile.

"I think your memories are a lot more… memorable," Peter says. "A rockstar lifestyle is something anyone would want to dream about, and it's lived up to all my expectations."

Carl smiles. "I'm glad I've been able to show you a good time," he says. "But it's so nice to see some of your life, and what made you you."

Peter feels very deeply and unexpectedly touched by that, and he feels another soft wave of love for Carl wash over him, warming him from head to toe. He sighs, enduring yet another moment of wishing he could kiss Carl when he can't - he suspects there'll be many more of those over the coming hours and days. "Next time I hope we end up in Cyprus, the weather there was much nicer at least," he says with a wry smile. 

"Germany seemed perfectly nice to me anyway," Carl says. "I lived on a council estate in Hampshire for the whole of my youth, so growing up abroad seems incredibly exotic."

"I don't want to seem ungrateful, I had a very comfortable upbringing," Peter says. "My parents made sure we never wanted for anything."

"You should invite them here," Carl suggests. "Show them what you've done with the place. I'm sure they'll be incredibly proud and impressed, just like your sister was."

Peter feels his stomach flip uneasily at the thought of entertaining his parents. The pressure seems so immense, he wishes he could leave caretaker Peter in charge. "My parents haven't approved of anywhere I've lived since I left university halls," he says. "Usually with good reason, but still. When I mentioned it to my mum when I moved in, she didn't seem too enthusiastic about visiting."

"Things were completely different then, though," Carl points out, in what Peter thinks is still an understatement. "The place looks amazing now, very welcoming, even to the fussiest parents."

He does have a point, Peter has to admit. And it would actually be quite nice to show something off to them, that he's accomplished and that they'll see the value in. 

"You're right," Peter agrees. "I really want them to see it, I always have, I just loved this place so much, even before I knew why. I wanted to share it with them. And you know," he goes on. "I want them to see me being as happy as I am now. They might have been frustrated and exasperated with me for a lot of my adult life and with choices I made, but I know it's only because they wanted me to be happy. And now I really, truly am," he says, smiling sincerely at Carl. "Even if I can't really tell them why," he says, a little more wistfully. He pauses. "Unless… maybe I can," he says, a thought beginning to develop in his mind.

"From what you've said about your parents, I'm not sure they'd really know how to take you introducing them to your ghost boyfriend who lives in your house with you," Carl says dryly.

Peter giggles. "To be honest, I don't think they'd put it past me," he says. "They probably wouldn't even be surprised to hear me say it, because it's me. But I was thinking," he goes on. "I could write it. My book, that I'm supposed to be doing. I could make it a story about… us," he says simply. 

"It is a pretty great story, even if I say so myself," says Carl, a smile spreading across his face. "And I know they'd be very proud of anything you write."

"Well, we'll see about that," Peter says dubiously. "But I can make a start on it. Now I have the right inspiration," he says, giving Carl a soppy smile. 

Carl smiles back at him. "And do invite them soon, won't you? I want to meet them," he says, with some rather adorable excitement, even if Peter doesn't think it's quite justified. "Your sister was so much fun. I can't wait to see the rest of your family."

Peter laughs. "I'll tell you now, she's a lot more like me than they are. You'll wonder how two people like them ever managed to produce two offspring like us."

"That sounds even more fun," Carl says with a gleam in his eye, and Peter realises the potential for his own embarrassment is even higher than when Amy Jo visited. But that's OK, he thinks. He does want Carl to meet the rest of his family, even if they can't meet him. He wants to share as much of his world with Carl as he possibly can, because Carl's own world is so limited now. 

And he also wants to do it while they can. Just in case. Peter doesn't say it out loud to Carl - yet - but it's in the back of his mind. See his family, make the most of it, while he's here. Write everything down, so they have an explanation when - if - one day they find him… different. 

In case he goes, and doesn't come back. Because Peter knows that's what he wants, even if he's trying not to think it. He'll wait and see, but he doesn't think the feeling will go away. If anything, he thinks it can only get stronger. 

He checks his recent calls and texts before he phones his mum, just to see if they've had any communication while he's been away - there don't seem to be any calls, which is a relief, but there are a few texts to give him a bit of context. He's told them about his job, so at least he doesn't have to fudge a story about how he got it, and there's nothing else important he needs to know, so he feels as prepared as he can be. 

He still feels oddly nervous, though, as he calls and hears it ringing, for a good few rings before his mum eventually picks up. Extending this invitation feels like a big deal - if they come it'll be nerve-wracking but probably rewarding, but if they turn him down or make excuses, Peter thinks he'll be crushed. It's almost enough to make him chicken out of asking, but he forces himself to, knowing he'll be disappointed if he doesn't, rather than kind of relieved like he has been at times in years gone by. 

"Oh… Well, I'm sure we'll be coming over soon," she hedges in response. She sounds a bit taken aback that Peter is even asking again. 

"It really would be nice to see you," Peter says earnestly. "I want to show you the house. I think you'll be surprised," he says, putting it mildly. After all, Peter himself was more than a little shocked at the transformation. 

"It would be nice to see how you're doing up there," she says, and Peter thinks that sounds hopeful. "All by yourself like that, when you've never lived alone before. I do worry about you being lonely."

Peter has to swallow a laugh at that. "You don't need to be concerned about that," he assures her. "I'm finding plenty of opportunities for conversation."

"That's good," she says, cautiously but sounding a little more relaxed. "You must meet some people with common interests at the bookshop."

"Oh, yes," he agrees, even though he talks a lot less there than he does at home. "I'm really enjoying it there, it's perfect for me."

"That's lovely, I'm really pleased for you," she says, sounding even less guarded, and maybe even relieved. "Do you think we could visit some time next month?" she asks.

"Oh yes, that would be fine with me," Peter says eagerly. It's not like he has much else going on, except three days work a week at the shop. 

"How about the sixth?" she suggests.

"Yes, that's great!" Peter says right away, without even checking. "You can stay over if you'd like. Have a look around the area."

"I'll ask your dad about it," she says, which probably means _one step at a time_ , but for now this is progress, and he'll happily accept it. 

As soon as he hangs up he takes a leaf out of caretaker Peter’s book and puts it straight into the calendar in his phone. 

"They're going to come!" he tells Carl excitedly. "We arranged for them to visit on the sixth of June."

Carl lets out a little laugh. "That would've been my birthday," he says.

"Oh really?" Peter says. "Would you like me to change it? I can ring her back and rearrange, if… if you'd prefer it to just be us that day," he suggests.

Carl shakes his head. "Oh no, I actually think it would be kind of nice, to have your family here that day," he says, smiling. "It'll be a warmer and more lively atmosphere."

Peter chuckles. "Well, my parents aren't exactly the biggest party people you'll ever meet, but yeah, it'll be nice," he says with a smile, before his face falls. "Oh shit," he says. "I guess I'd better try and figure out how to cook for real before they come. And how to keep the house clean. I wonder if I can tap into my other self's mind somehow?" he wonders. 

He genuinely feels quite motivated to try and live up to alternate Peter's culinary standards - after all, all the food he's seen that he's prepared has been fairly simple, how hard can it be? He's determined to show his parents that he's got his life together here, that they can stop fretting and worrying about him, he's taking care of himself and thriving and doing better than he's ever done before in his adult life. He's noticed that his body has gained a little weight in his absence, and he looks well-nourished and healthier than he has in years. He feels confident that he can do this, keep up the good habits started by the caretaker guy and set his parents' minds at rest, after so many years. It's probably more than they ever expected by now - it should be a nice surprise for them, he thinks wryly. 

He also feels motivated to start writing. So he does. Peter believes in striking while the iron is hot, because he never knows how long the mood will last, and how drastically it might change and what direction it might take next, so he sits down at his laptop and simply starts at the beginning. Looking at the house, and knowing he had to live here. Buying the ring in the antique shop. Moving here, and meeting Carl, and all of the pieces gradually coming together and making sense. It gives him a lovely feeling inside, to look back at it all, and revel in the feeling of falling in love with Carl, still so new and exciting. 

He has a few weeks before his parents are visiting, and it feels like a good deadline for having some kind of story written down. Maybe not for them to read right away, but at least to tell them about. Another accomplishment that they had probably written off as never going to happen. Peter decides it will feel quite nice, to prove people wrong. 

"Is it OK for me to read it as you write?" Carl asks, very considerately, as Peter sits at the computer.

"Of course," Peter says, almost to his own surprise. He finds he doesn't mind Carl seeing his work at all, even rough and in progress as it is, which is unexpected to him. "In fact, you're welcome to help me, if you like," he says with a grin. "If you can think of any extra details, or better ways to put things, tell me. We can collaborate."

"That sounds good," Carl enthuses. "Much more interesting than just writing my biography."

"I'd love to disagree, but I have to say, under the circumstances I really can't," Peter says, honestly but with a laugh that Carl shares. "But I will make sure to say a lot of amazing things about you anyway," he adds with a softer look. "So everyone will understand how impossible it was for me to not fall in love with you."

"I would say, stop making me want to kiss you, but I think that might be impossible too," Carl murmurs. 

"Let's just hope for a luckier dream tonight," Peter says fervently.

When they go to bed, Peter finds that, for once, his wish comes true. In his dream he finds himself sitting at a pavement table outside a cafe. He knows immediately, without even having to look around or think about it, that he's in Paris, and when he looks up over the rooftops, he can see the Eiffel Tower.

An uncontrollable smile spreads across his face, he feels absolutely delighted, and even more so when he sees Carl, rounding the corner of the street and coming straight towards him. 

Peter gets to his feet to greet him, hugging and kissing him excitedly. "Paris!" he exclaims. "That's a bit of an improvement on last night."

Carl is smiling broadly too. "One of my favourite places in the world," he says. "Have you been before?"

"Yes," says Peter. "But not for years. How romantic," he says sweetly. 

"What would you like to do?" asks Carl.

Peter can think of a lot of things, some pure and public, some less so and definitely private. "What would _you_ like to do?" he returns with a smirk, hoping Carl will pick the option he really wants without Peter having to say it out loud and sound shameless. 

Carl, unsurprisingly, immediately picks up on his barely concealed intent, smirking right back at him. "OK, well, why don't we take a walk, and see if we find a nice place to stay a while?" 

That sounds fine to Peter. After all, there's not nearly so much point spending time eating or drinking dream food and drink, because it never really tastes of much. But the city is still stunningly beautiful around them as they walk, arms linked like an old-fashioned couple, and Peter feels his heart soar, it's such a breathtakingly perfect experience for them to share. It may not be quite as tangible as the spirit world, but the burst of emotion it conjures in Peter is just as real as it is in any of the worlds he knows.

Still, Peter is satisfied that he's walked enough when Carl brings them to a halt in front of another opulent hotel. 

"You're spoiling me," he teases as they go inside to a richly decorated foyer. 

He checks his pockets, but he doesn't find anything. Carl does though - the key to good old room 1203, and they get straight into the lift to head up there. Peter still gets a rush of excitement, of naughtiness, with the sheer decadence of it all, waltzing into plush hotel rooms just to have sex and drink champagne. Peter really does feel spoilt, he feels almost too lucky, but he's going to indulge in every moment of it as deeply and as fully as he possibly can.

As soon as they're in the hotel room, he pounces on Carl hungrily, kissing and pawing at him, sliding his hands under his shirt. It's not like in the spirit world, where the feeling of want and desire builds and grows, stoked with gradually intensifying kisses and touches - here Peter feels it switch on inside him like a light, he's immediately and madly turned on just from knowing what they're here for, he has to have Carl now, can hardly stop himself from just rutting against him desperately and in a most base fashion. Carl must feel the same, because he's already tugging at Peter's clothes, only breaking their kiss for a second to pull his t-shirt over his head, fumbling with his jeans until he can get his hand inside and grasp Peter's cock. 

Peter groans with a shock of pleasure as Carl starts to stroke him, even just Carl's hand on him feels so good, he's got the perfect touch and the perfect pace, and he's kissing Peter so perfectly too. Peter is lost in it, he can't think of anything except his own pursuit of pleasure and the magnitude of it, Carl is just making him weak and crazy with arousal, and Peter slips so easily and deeply into it. He clutches at Carl, thrusting into his hand, unable to control himself, and he realises far too late that he's not going to be able to stop himself from coming, and he does, spilling over Carl's fingers and shaking and jerking himself awake.

He lies in bed, mortified, frozen with horror. He covers his face with his hands in embarrassment, even as his body still feels the lingering pleasantness of the very real orgasm it's just experienced. 

He peeks through his fingers to see Carl is awake next to him, looking at him with a surprisingly fond smile, under the circumstances.

"I'm so sorry," Peter mumbles. "It's been a very long time since that happened to me."

"I'll take it as a compliment," Carl chuckles. "It's far from the first time I've been in that situation. And better than all the times we got interrupted, eh? Better that at least one of us should get something out of it," he says, very generously Peter thinks.

"The dreams are so unpredictable," Peter sighs. "And I feel like I wasted the opportunity we got, in Paris of all places. Next time we'll probably be in a bloody bus shelter in Nuneaton, and you know that dream will last for ages."

Carl laughs softly. "Don't worry," he murmurs. "I'm happy I could do something nice for you anyway."

"It was extremely nice," Peter says emphatically. "Too nice, as you can tell." The boxer shorts he wears to sleep in are rapidly getting even more uncomfortable, so he just takes them off and dumps them on the bedroom floor, reluctant to get out of bed with Carl yet, even if they can't touch. "Next time, you can be more selfish," he says, starting to finally smile. "Do what you want with me. Something that feels good for you, too. Because you're the one who can't feel like that here."

Carl smiles back at him. "Let's hope we're not in that Nuneaton bus shelter after all then," he says, and Peter giggles.

"Maybe even if we are," he says with a lascivious look. 

He wants to kiss Carl again, but he's getting used to feeling like that. He spends a lot of his time thinking about kissing Carl, daydreaming about it, at his job, as he writes, as they watch TV, or sit out in the garden, Peter reading, Carl being read to. He imagines how happy he'd be if he could kiss Carl as much as he thinks about it, whenever he thought about it. It's not easy to endure. Peter has never been much good at doing without things he really wants.

He tries to keep himself - and, by extension, Carl - busy during the day, with the usual activities. Some reading, some music, some TV, followed by impassioned discussion and dissection of it all. Peter loves that, he loves that Carl can develop the most in-depth analysis of even the most trivial of TV episodes, and how knowledgeable and thoughtful he is about the history and context of the media they consume together. Peter feels like he really has met someone on his level - if not his plane of existence.

Not currently, at least.


	5. Chapter 5

Since Carl has learnt about the internet, they spend a lot of time Googling things and going down rabbit holes of investigation. Peter hasn't had this much fun with anyone in years - Carl's enthusiasm for the novelty of everything they can find online is infectious and endearing, and Peter is happy to oblige with any Google Carl wants, always with entertaining results. Even though they're just pottering about the house, days with Carl feel full and well-spent. Peter feels like he finally has the best of all possible worlds, with sufficient freedom, a nice place of his own to live, intellectual stimulation, and someone to love, and be loved by. 

The only thing missing is the obvious, ever-present problem, the thing he can only have in a world that's not this one. 

All they can hope for is better dreams. Peter is relieved that, the next night, they don't end up in Nuneaton after all, but they're definitely not anywhere quite like Paris either. It's a seaside town, and Peter quickly realises it must be the English coast, with a large expanse of sand, and a harbour arm that stretches out into a calm sea. The weather is nice, the sun is starting to set, and Carl is by his side, which is a welcome relief, and Peter relaxes a little right away. 

Carl opens his arms and gathers Peter into them immediately, kissing his lips tenderly. That rush of pure concentrated joy when they first get to do this again, after a whole day of being powerless and unable, is the sweetest feeling Peter has ever known.

"What shall we do here first?" Carl murmurs, still so close that Peter can feel the warmth of his breath on his face. "Arcades? Build a sandcastle?"

Peter laughs softly. "Those sound nice enough, but I found this in my pocket." He brings out a key, just an ordinary yale key on an anonymous keyring. No clues as to what it unlocks, but Peter doesn't feel too worried - he's pretty sure that the dream will guide them where they need to go. And even if it's not too specific, he's willing to have a little fun trying doors. "I feel like we should go - this way," he says, turning to his right and following the road round along beside the sea. 

Carl doesn't object, and they walk past some picturesque buildings, colourful and smart, all the time with the soft rhythm of the sea accompanying them on the left. Peter notices it in particular, because he doesn't always remember hearing much external noise in his dreams, but it's calming and scene-setting, and Peter enjoys it while he can.

It's not long before they find themselves surrounded by buildings that are a little more weathered, a little less loved and maintained. Peter feels just as, if not more, charmed by them - after all, he liked an old, run down house enough to buy it and live in it. He loves the imperfections in places, they're where the character is.

Eventually they come to a long terrace of Victorian houses, the kind that would probably have been boarding houses. Indeed, some of them still have signs outside indicating that they're B&Bs, and Peter feels drawn to one in particular. He leads Carl up the steps to the front door, trying the key in the lock - he's pleased, but not surprised when it turns, and he gives Carl a delighted smile as they go inside.

They both start to laugh.

"Do you think this is my dream or yours?" Peter asks. "Because I don't think this place can have changed much since you were alive."

"I certainly don't think it's been cleaned since then," Carl says in wonder. "This is the kind of place we used to stay when we were starting out on tour. A long time before the Ritz and the Parisian and Thai five star accommodations," he deadpans.

"Yeah, this is more my speed," Peter says with a grin. “Reminds me of places I was living before I moved into your house.”

"I wonder if one of us has stayed here before, at some point, and it's so long ago, and so terrible, that we don't remember," Carl suggests, and Peter thinks he's probably right. 

They set off exploring the ground floor first, coming across a seedy kitchen and then an even seedier jacuzzi.

“Even I would never have got in that thing,” Carl says, and Peter has to agree. 

“Could catch all sorts in there,” he says. 

“A verruca would be the least of your worries,” Carl adds, and Peter laughs. 

They head up the stairs, finding tacky decor and tatty furniture, stained carpets and grotty bathrooms, and it's all just so terribly English seaside that neither of them can stop laughing, it just tickles both of them so much. 

"At least there's a good view," says Carl, looking out over the sea from the window of the attic room. 

"It is," Peter murmurs, coming to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around Carl's waist and gently kissing his neck. He feels perfectly happy and content just being in this crappy place with Carl, like they're living their own romantic adventures, all over the world, in all kinds of settings. Everywhere has some charm when he's with Carl, even his childhood home in Germany, he supposes. But this feels sweet, it feels like them. Something that's just theirs, creating memories together that they couldn't in life, or in the real world. Peter likes that thought. 

"Did you want to… mess about a bit?" Carl says playfully. "Seeing as we're in the perfect place for it," he adds, at least half-joking. 

"Oh, this place getting you in the mood, is it?" Peter teases. "You fancy a bit of how's your father?"

Carl sputters with laughter, turning in Peter's arms. "A bit of slap and tickle," he offers, making Peter laugh too. 

"A bit of nookie," Peter giggles. "Appropriately English, don't you think?" 

"Oh yes, very," murmurs Carl. "You said I should do what I want with you, should I start now?"

"Yes please," Peter whimpers. That switch inside him is suddenly flicked again, he's instantly and hugely turned on. "Anything you like," he hears himself saying. "It's your turn to feel good. I want you to feel good."

Carl kisses him boldly, and Peter feels dizzied again by the way Carl can take charge so confidently and so commandingly, just moments after they were playing around and laughing together. Carl can go from being a cuddly toy to being the boss in no time at all, and it makes Peter feel weak in the knees, to know that that Carl is there inside at any moment, ready to emerge and seduce Peter whenever he feels like it.

He doesn't even notice how their clothes come off, but it's a dream, these things happen, and Peter isn't complaining. They get on the sagging bed together, but if it's uncomfortable they don't notice, they're too wrapped up in each other, kissing and fondling and rubbing against each other. After their experiences so far, Peter is braced for disappointment, for some interruption or frustration, for the dream to be over before they get to the good bit, but hope springs eternal, and he knows their best chance is to be quick. He’s ready for it, frantic even, and Carl moves with the same urgency, rolling Peter onto his back with Carl on top of him. Peter gives easily, keen and pliable, just wanting Carl so deeply that it makes him tremble, arching against Carl because he can't help himself. All he can think about is how good it feels to have Carl on top of him and how desperate with arousal he is, he's aching with it, eaten up by it. But Carl isn't waiting for anything either, leaning down to kiss him as he pushes inside all the way.

It feels so good, so wild and uncontrolled, and Peter pulls Carl deeper into him, urging him to fuck him hard and fast, to forget any restraint. Carl gets it, and maybe he gets it too well, because this time, Peter realises, it's Carl who's getting there too fast. Peter is still crazily aroused, close to orgasm, but it's just out of his reach and he doesn't feel like he's going to get there, even after he takes himself in his own hand and starts to stroke, just as quick as Carl's pace. It's not enough, and Peter lies there helplessly as Carl comes, and before he can get any relief of his own, or even kiss Carl one more time, he's awake, panting, disoriented, and still has a very inconvenient hard on. 

This time it's Carl's turn for mortified apologies. He starts to say he's sorry, but Peter just shakes his head. He has more pressing matters still on his mind.

"Don't worry, it's just like you said, I'm happy you could be happy," he says honestly. "And I can, y'know, take care of myself," he adds, smiling a little self-consciously. 

Carl starts to smile back at him, and it quickly turns lascivious. His eyes travel down Peter's body, very obviously lingering on his very obvious arousal, and then back up to meet his gaze again. Peter's mouth suddenly feels dry, his heart skips, he feels himself throbbing under the heat of Carl's scrutiny. His hand travels automatically to his groin, sliding inside his boxers and touching his cock, hot and heavy as he wraps his fingers around it. 

"Let me see," murmurs Carl, and Peter gasps with the unexpected strength of the bolt of excitement that races through him.

He pushes off the covers, feeling his cheeks get warm at the thought of doing this bold and naughty thing, showing off for Carl, letting him watch Peter get himself off. 

"Take your clothes off too," Carl says, with that sultry confidence that makes Peter weak and gooey inside. 

He obeys immediately, pulling off his t-shirt and kicking off his boxers, pushing them both off onto the floor. He lies back on the bed, and Carl lies on his side next to him, his eyes roaming over his body, and Peter doesn't think he's ever felt more turned on in his entire life, without even being touched by anyone. He can't help shakily taking himself in his hand again, whimpering a little at the touch as he starts to stroke. He feels a little tentative about it at first, but that feeling soon disappears as he focusses on Carl's face as he watches him. Being the subject of that look, those fierce blue eyes, is a thrill Peter can't compare. He's been thinking about it since the other day in the shower, knowing Carl must have been looking at him even though Peter couldn't see him, and the idea of Carl watching him like this, so deliberately, is turning him on so much he can hardly bear it. Peter wants to pace himself a little, wants to enjoy this for as long as he can, to wrap himself in the intimacy of it, of having all of Carl's attention concentrated so completely on him at a moment like this.

"I wish it was me touching you," Carl whispers, and that doesn't help Peter's chances of making this last. 

"Me too," he whines. He thinks about Carl's hands on him, thinks about the feeling of Carl's mouth on him as he looks at those full, pretty lips. Carl looks like someone in a poster Peter would have wanked over as a teenager, he's so gorgeous that it feels painfully, sinfully good to be doing it for real. Or almost real, at least. He wishes Carl could enjoy it physically just as much as Peter is, but he can see that he's definitely loving the experience as it is, and that just makes Peter feel even hotter, his pleasure spiralling rapidly towards a peak. He doesn't want to close his eyes even though he would naturally do so, he forces himself to keep them open so he can look at Carl, and watch him watching him, as he feels himself rushing closer, trembling and thrusting into his hand, hips lifting off the bed as he jerks and cries out, spilling messily over the pale, soft skin of his stomach. 

He lies there, getting his breath back, his eyes still on Carl, and Carl's on him, and he gives a breathless laugh. When he has the strength to move, he reaches off the side of the bed to where he threw his shirt, and uses it to clean himself up. He wonders for half a second whether Carl will think it’s a grubby thing to do and judge him for it, but he supposes that’s another good thing about having a debauched rockstar boyfriend, he probably has a high tolerance for grime. Peter turns onto his side to face Carl, pulling the covers back over himself snugly. He doesn't have to get out of bed yet, and he doesn't want to, just wants to enjoy the comfortable, intimate feeling between them for as long as he can.

"I can't believe we didn't do that sooner," he murmurs.

"Me neither," Carl chuckles. "If you ever fancy doing it again, I'd be extremely willing."

"That's good to know," Peter says with a giggle. "I just wish we could, you know, cuddle now," he adds softly. 

"I know, me too," sighs Carl. "But it felt good to be able to do that, to see you that way, here. In our home," he says, and Peter's heart warms and swells in his chest, he's so filled with emotion to hear Carl say those words.

"I love you," he can't help but say, his feelings so strong and so big that he can't keep them all inside, they have to spill out. "Wherever we are. That doesn't change."

"I love you too," says Carl. "I never felt anything like I feel for you during my whole lifetime," he says. "Everything we've done together, the simple things and the more exotic things, here and in our dreams and in the spirit world, all of it - feels so much more meaningful, so much more enjoyable, because it's with you," he says. "That's the truth. I spent my whole life doing wild things for thrills, pushing the boundaries of experience - but even things like just taking a bath with you makes me feel something so much deeper and more fulfilling. I feel content, I feel… complete. I suppose I could say that you make me feel alive," he finishes, with a lopsided smile. 

"I think love is an essential part of what makes us alive, isn't it," Peter says. He's quite swept up in Carl's words, holding onto them and tucking them away in the Carl-shaped place inside him, that's growing and taking up more space there every day. "And I feel the same, everything I do with you feels so vital, it feels like we're the first people to ever do these things and feel this way. I've never wanted to stay anywhere or with anyone for more than a few months before, but the only thing I want now is for us to be together."

"You know, being here like this, and being able to see each other and hold each other and be together in our dreams - it wouldn't be so bad, would it, to stay here, in this world, a little longer," says Carl gently. "I know you must want to go back to the spirit world, and I know that's partly for me, so I can experience more of the material, physical things I can't have here. But I can do without those things, as long as I have you, just like I do now," he says. "Just so you don't feel the pressure of that decision hanging over you, for my sake. You can take as long as you need, as long as you like."

Peter understands what he means. They can take a little more time, it's not entirely unbearable, living together like this. He loves Carl, and Carl loves him, and that's all they really need. They can have adventures in their dreams at night, and spend their days in each others' company. Peter will get older, and Carl won't, but that doesn't seem to matter in the spirit world - after all, Carl's grandma certainly didn't seem like a very old lady when they met her. One day, he's certain that he and Carl will take that decision and go, together, for good - but for now, it feels a little easier to know they can delay it.

For now, he still has to focus on writing down his story, and preparing for his parents' visit - and Carl's birthday. He's eager to mark the occasion, give Carl a nice celebration, surprise him with something that he can enjoy. Flowers, he thinks, and candles - things that are joyful and meaningful and traditional for birthdays, but also usual enough home decorations that his parents won't think it out of the ordinary. Or, rather, if they do, they'll think so just because they wouldn't expect Peter to do something like that at all, whether they were visiting or not. They're going to get a lot of surprises, Peter knows, and he's rather looking forward to that as well. 

Oh, and Carl's birthday will be a good excuse to buy a fancy cake too. Plus, if they don't manage to have a satisfactorily celebratory dream, at least after this morning they know something they can do instead, that's almost as good. Certainly for Peter, anyway. 

Peter carries on writing. It's going well, he finds it easy to write, with subject matter he has such investment in. He's glad for himself that he gets to remember and relive everything in detail, and if there's anything he's forgotten, Carl is there to fill in the gaps. It's funny to reminisce about things that - in Peter's life - are fresh and recent, but in the real world, happened several months ago. He supposes that's how time feels anyway, when you're falling in love. Everything feels new, but at the same time, you feel like you've known them forever. 

He continues to go to work, three days a week, usually Wednesday to Friday, but sometimes Saturdays too. He wonders if caretaker Peter has told people about Carl, whether he talks about a partner or a boyfriend at all. Even if he hasn't, Peter decides he's going to - he can’t help himself, he’s so deep in the first flushes of love that he just wants to talk about Carl all the time, whenever he gets the opportunity. He's proud of being with someone as amazing as Carl - and after all, no one else needs to know his boyfriend isn't actually currently alive. It also feels rather boundary-breaking to casually mention to the genteel old buffers who come into the shop that he has, not a wife or a girlfriend, but a _boyfriend_ \- though if any of them feel shocked or startled, they're either too polite to show it, or they're not surprised in the least that an eccentric man working in an eccentric second hand bookshop would be in a less than traditional relationship. He's somewhat disappointed he doesn't cause any gasps or raised eyebrows - if only they knew the truth, he laments. That would certainly be more of a surprise to people, but Peter really doesn't want anyone to think he's a bona fide lunatic. So he's happy to talk to anyone who'll listen about Carl, whilst actually rather enjoying that he's the only one who knows the truth. And if anyone ever asks why they never see his musician boyfriend, Peter can just tell them he's away on tour. The fib writes itself. 

That gives him half an idea, and he muses about it to Carl one evening.

"Maybe I could tell my parents about us," he suggests, hurriedly going on before Carl can get the wrong end of the stick. "Tell them that I've met someone and fallen in love. Tell them I have a boyfriend," he says. He feels his heart start to inexplicably beat faster, suddenly unsure whether he's said something incredibly stupid. 

"I would actually feel incredibly honoured if you were to do that," Carl says sincerely. "As you can imagine, it usually didn't go down too well in my lifetime - people didn't want their daughters consorting with the likes of me," he goes on, with a rakish grin. "And as for their sons, well, that was definitely never going to happen. So for you to want to do that, makes me truly happy," he finishes, his smile softening and making Peter's heart flutter. "Though I assume you won't tell them about my, ah, condition."

Peter giggles at Carl's phrasing. "No, that's for when they read the book," he says breezily. "But to be honest, I don't think I'd be able to help talking about you. You're on my mind all the time, and I don't hide my feelings very well," he says with a smile. "And besides, if they know I've been seeing someone, they'll probably be relieved that I'm getting some human contact, and not becoming isolated," he adds, rolling his eyes. "I should save some photos of you to show them, because they're bound to ask," he realises.

"And you're sure they won't recognise me?" Carl asks, slightly plaintively.

"Well, if they do, I'll just say you look like him," Peter says, trying to comfort Carl's obviously wounded pride, though inside he's pretty certain they won't. He contemplates photoshopping some photos of him and Carl together, but he decides that might be pushing his skillset a little too far to be convincing, so he settles for saving some photos that are good enough quality to not look too old and dated, and casual enough that it's not obvious that Carl is a notorious celebrity. That would be a whole other set of worries to inflict on his parents, Peter thinks with amusement. 

Peter isn't usually the best at preparedness. But maybe his alter ego has instilled some new pathways in his unconscious mind, formed some good habits that allow him to be better organised, because he arranges everything for the day of his parents' visit, and for Carl's birthday, with relative ease and enthusiasm. Carl's birthday really feels like something he wants to celebrate and make into a nice day for Carl - after all, he won't have celebrated a birthday for over 30 years, Peter should make it memorable. 

The hardest part is setting everything up without Carl seeing it. He has to go to bed with Carl as usual, then wait till he's asleep, before sneaking out of bed to fetch the candles he left in the car and arrange them on the living room mantelpiece, and bring in the flowers that he had to hide in a bucket in the garden. It's fun organising the surprise though, and Peter enjoys doing it all with love, even if, when he goes back to bed and finally falls asleep, he has to find Carl and pretend that he just couldn't sleep for some reason. 

To his relief, it doesn’t take him that long to find Carl, and when he does, he can’t help breaking into a big, delighted smile. 

“Happy birthday,” he says, immediately gathering Carl up in a warm hug, and giving him a loving kiss. “Do you know where we are?” he asks, when they break apart.

“I’m afraid I think we might be in Basingstoke,” Carl says a little sheepishly, as they look around themselves at a rather normal-looking pedestrianised shopping precinct. “It is where I was born, so I suppose it makes sense. But what a letdown! Why couldn’t I have visited Monte Carlo or Barbados or something for my birthday?”

Peter laughs softly. “Maybe that’ll be tomorrow night,” he says. “What is there to do here, anyway?”

“I think it’s probably similar to your Nuneaton scenario,” Carl says. “I was only a baby when we moved from here, so I can’t even remember where we lived. We can find a bus shelter and snog all night, and maybe we’ll find some cheap cider lying around that we can drink.”

“That’s one way to keep feeling young,” Peter says brightly. He’s just feeling so cheerful that he doesn’t mind where they are, as long as they’re together, and he knows Carl must feel the same, as they take every opportunity to kiss and cuddle and make the most of being physically close. It doesn’t matter what they do, or whether they can do anything sexual together, it’s just nice to have the possibility of touch, of being tactile with each other, and it always leaves Peter feeling so warmly and simply happy inside.

When they wake in the morning, Peter doesn't remember when he was last this eager to get out of bed. He has a childlike sense of excitement to show Carl his surprise, and spend some time together before his parents arrive. 

Carl certainly seems a bit bemused by Peter unexpectedly wanting to get up almost as soon as they're awake, though he humours him, following him downstairs and into the living room.

"Happy birthday, again," says Peter, smiling at him in what he can feel must be a very soppy way. "I know this isn't much, but I just wanted to mark the occasion for you in a small way."

Carl smiles back at him, and, to Peter's delight, he does look like this is all completely unexpected. "That's so thoughtful of you, thank you very much," he says sincerely. "I know it must be hard to find gifts for the man who can't touch, eat or drink anything," he chuckles. "But I really appreciate that you went to such a special effort. The flowers are absolutely lovely. And they smell wonderful too,” he says, taking a sniff. “Maybe if I try hard enough, later I can blow out a candle, like a real ghost would."

Peter giggles. "I got some foods you might enjoy the smell of as well," he says, heading towards the kitchen with Carl following. "Bacon for breakfast sound OK for you? And I'll even make coffee if you want."

"Yes please," says Carl eagerly. 

A bacon sandwich is something Peter feels confident making even without alternate Peter steering the ship, but coffee is another matter.

"It's probably a good job you can't taste this," Peter says, even before it's finished brewing. 

"The smell is the best part anyway," says Carl kindly. Peter firmly agrees, making himself a cup of tea and letting Carl just enjoy the smell of the coffee. 

He plays some of Carl's favourite records, and after breakfast he reads to Carl from some of his favourite books, until he has to start getting ready for his parents' arrival. He finds himself getting more and more nervous, as he showers and shaves and dresses. It's the first time in quite a long time that he's actually felt like he wants to impress his parents, rather than scandalise them, and he has no idea if it's going to work. Because at least when he was scandalising them, it couldn't really fail, but this time, if they're not impressed, they might be disappointed, or even nonplussed, and that really would count as a failure. He just wants some recognition that he - with some help from both his alter ego and Carl - has really shaped up, changed his lifestyle, is doing the best for himself now. And even if other Peter has done a lot of the hard work, Peter himself sees how good it is, and how much better his life is - and all it took was falling in love, true love. That’s the important thing, that’s the part that’s made him truly, deep down happy, like he never has been before, and that’s the thing he really wants his parents to see more than anything. 

He couldn’t rely on other Peter to prepare the practical things for today, though, which puts a lot of pressure on Peter in the kitchen. At least it’s summer, so he can get away with making salad for lunch again, and this time he’s looked up some slightly more creative recipes online, with nuts and fruit and things out of jars. And it’s easy enough to buy a few fancy cheeses and artisan bread, especially in a town like Marlborough. It’s simple, but all in all he thinks it’ll make the right kind of impression on his parents. 

He’s so nervous in the half hour before they arrive that he takes to pacing from room to room, like he’s checking everything is still just as he left it, and no sitcom-like disaster has befallen all his carefully-laid plans.

“It’ll be fine,” Carl says soothingly. “They’ll be proud of you, how could they fail to be? And I’m proud of you too,” he adds. “You’ve put a lot of effort into today, for me, and for your parents too. And it’s all wonderful. They’ll love it just as much as I do. And I’m envious of them, getting to eat that cheese,” he says longingly. 

That at least makes Peter smile. But then his stomach flips as he hears the sound of a car approaching the house, coming to a stop, and the engine switching off before he has the courage to look out of the window. He doesn’t want them to see him looking, just so he can buy himself a few extra seconds. But then there’s the sound of footsteps, and voices, and a knock on the door.

He looks helplessly at Carl, knowing it must look comical, seeing him so nervous for the first time.

Carl just smiles at him encouragingly. “You’ll be fine,” he says again reassuringly. “Now go on, let them in and show off everything you’ve done.”

Peter smiles back, then turns, and finally goes and opens the door. To his surprise, it’s not just his mum and dad who’ve turned up, but also Amy Jo, and his younger sister too, complete with a very small baby.

“She came a little bit early!” his mum explains, every inch the proud first time grandma. “So we thought, let’s take her along to meet Uncle Peter!”

“And when I heard everyone else was going, I thought I’d tag along as well,” says Amy Jo cheerfully. “Seeing as we had such a lovely day last time.”

Peter is actually surprisingly touched by that. He doesn’t usually see his family that regularly at all, mostly due to his living arrangements over the years, so for Amy Jo to want to come back again so soon, is a very welcome thought.

“It’s so nice to see you all,” Peter says, feeling full of emotion as he shows them into the house. “I’m really glad you all came.”

"Amy Jo told us you seemed like you'd settled down really nicely, and she was right," his mum says, looking around in wonder as they go into the living room. "It looks wonderful. And very different to the pictures you sent us when you moved in, it's such a transformation!"

Peter is over the moon to hear his mum's praise and enthusiasm. She seems genuinely impressed, and more than a little relieved as well, to see Peter living in such a well-decorated and tidy home. A _normal_ home, he thinks, a little ironically considering his life since he's been there has been further from normal than ever. But if it makes his parents feel better, that's enough for Peter. 

"Did you do it all yourself?" asks his dad.

Peter tries not to look like he has absolutely no idea exactly how any of this happened, even though that's the truth. "Ah, not all of it," he hedges. "I got decorators in to help."

His dad nods. "They've done a good job," he says approvingly, and even though it's not directly aimed at himself, that almost means more to Peter than his mum's more fulsome praise, because his dad's approval of his lifestyle is even rarer than his mum's. 

Rather in shock at how well everything is going so far, Peter retreats to the kitchen to fetch drinks for everyone. 

"See, I told you it would all be fine," Carl says happily, following him. "They're all really impressed and proud of you."

"They've only been here five minutes," Peter says cautiously. "But it's definitely a good start at least. That's a weight off my mind," he admits. Then his eyes widen as he realises something. "Oh god, do you think I have enough food for everyone?" he frets.

Carl smiles at him fondly. "You bought about seven cheeses and three different loaves of bread, I think you'll be fine," he reassures him. "Stop worrying and enjoy yourself," he adds gently, and Peter smiles, relaxing a fraction. 

It does feel very helpful to have Carl here as a calming influence, offering an outside view. And it's just nice to have his presence there, and know he has someone to vent his anxieties to if he needs to, to get them out of his system. 

Peter (and Carl) go back to the living room with drinks, served in appropriate vessels, and even nibbles, which seems to astound his parents even more.

"This is all such a turnaround," his mum says. "What's inspired all of this?" 

That's a question Peter has been trying to find a suitable answer for. Of course, he doesn't exactly know, really - when he moved here he was perfectly prepared to just carry on living as he always has, amassing collections of interesting items, living haphazardly amongst them, keeping to his own schedule, unbound by the traditional norms of the world. And in a way, he's certainly done that, though definitely not in any way he could ever have predicted. But in other ways, that's changed and he doesn't completely know how it all happened. But it occurs to him that now he's been presented with the perfect opportunity to mention Carl, and the effect he's had on Peter, in a way that makes complete sense.

"Well, I met someone, not long after I moved here," he says, glancing at Carl and unable to stop a smile spreading across his face, open and joyful. "And we've been seeing each other ever since. I guess I wanted to make the place nice for him to visit," he explains bashfully. He supposes it is true in a way, because he didn't want Carl to see Peter living so untidily in his old home. He can't resist looking at Carl again, and the expression on his face fills his heart with love. Peter doesn't think he's ever said it out loud before, and Carl knows what Peter is saying isn't the whole truth, but he looks so touched by Peter's intent that he knows he's done the right thing.

He's so caught up in Carl's gaze that he's surprised when he realises his family's reaction to news of this magnitude.

"Peter!" Amy Jo exclaims. "You never told me you had a boyfriend!" 

Peter is spared having to explain that one by his mum saying, with equal shock, "A boyfriend? Is it serious? I mean, really this time?" More than anything, she sounds hopeful that Peter has found someone worth smartening up for, someone unlike most of the people she's seen drifting and crashing in and out of Peter's romantic life in the past. If Peter has done all this to impress him, he must be good, right? 

Peter smiles, first at Carl, then around at everyone. "Yeah, it is serious," he says shyly. "We've been spending a lot of time together. I love him," he says simply. 

"Tell us all about him," says Chloe eagerly. 

Peter couldn't stop himself from beaming if he tried. "He's a musician, and he lives not too far from here," he says, so far so truthfully. Except maybe the 'lives' part. "He plays the guitar, he's very talented. We like the same kinds of music, the same books, the same poems - he's very clever and erudite, but he's so funny as well," Peter goes on, deliberately not looking at Carl now. He wants him to see that he really means what he's saying, and that he wants his family to know he's sincere. "I've never met anyone who I can talk to like him, about all the things I think about," he goes on, knowing he's smiling very soppily, but he can't help it. "He understands me, and I understand him, and we care about the same things. He's the best person I've ever met, and the best person for me," he finishes simply, finally looking towards Carl, who's looking back at him with a face that's full of love and happiness and maybe a little embarrassment, that he's had to listen to Peter publicly say how wonderful he is, but he also looks proud and delighted that Peter thinks and feels those things, and that he was so keen to tell his family all about him.

They're all looking at him with expressions of happiness and more than a little relief as well, and Peter knows that, for once, they believe him. And of course they should, because Peter feels so strongly for Carl that he knows it must shine through in everything he says, in his eyes and his smile as he talks about Carl - Peter can't hide those kind of feelings, he can't even begin to keep them inside, and his family must see how real they are, and how deeply Peter is in love. 

"Let's see him, then," demands Amy Jo. "Show us some photos!"

This is it, the moment of truth. Peter belatedly hopes Amy Jo hasn't Googled the bands he played for her when she visited, and seen old photos of Carl in her searches. But even if she has, Peter is equipped with excuses - he's even prepared to joke that he thought young Carl the musician was attractive in his day, and when he met this guy who looked like him, he thought it must be his lucky day. Or something. 

Trying to act as normally as it's possible to be when showing one's family one's new partner for the first time, he brings up the pictures he's saved on his phone. Pictures of Carl in nice generic surroundings, sitting at cafe tables or standing in a park or something. Pictures Peter could feasibly have taken himself, or at least found on Facebook to show them. 

To his relief, Amy Jo doesn't say Carl looks familiar, or anything like that. What she does say is almost worse, though.

"Oh, isn't he good looking?" she marvels. "How did you manage to bag someone like that?!" 

"Oi!" he protests, but everyone else is laughing. He looks over at Carl, who's trying not to laugh as well, and also trying to pretend he's not enjoying the compliments, and he can't help smiling too.

"I'm so glad to see you so happy, love," his mum says, and Peter believes her. He's hidden and obscured things from his parents in the past, he hasn't always told them the truth - he supposes he's still hiding a fairly significant thing from them now, but the difference now is clear, and no one who knows Peter - or even if they didn't - could be left in any doubt as to the truth of his feelings about Carl, even if he has omitted to mention one particular fact. 

"Thanks, mum," he says, giving her a tight hug. Then his sisters want hugs too, and his dad watches a little awkwardly, obviously wondering if Peter will want to hug him too, even though those occasions are fairly rare. But Peter does want to, so he does. It's the right moment, conciliatory and even celebratory, and Peter is grateful for this sense of closeness and bridge-building between them, after years of tension. 

Everyone - especially Peter's dad - agrees that now would be the ideal time for lunch. Peter is able to avoid further questions about Carl, that would undoubtedly become more difficult to answer, by turning the conversation to Chloe and the baby, which of course she and his mum are delighted to talk about. Peter doesn't really know much about babies, or parenthood, but just like his family obviously felt for him, it's heartwarming to see his sister so happy and fulfilled. Carl situates himself in Peter's eyeline, so they can look at one another as naturally as possible, though Peter struggles to stop his attention being inexorably drawn from where it's supposed to be cooing over baby, to Carl's beautiful contented face.

Eventually he feels like it's an appropriate time to bring out the cake, like he's been looking forward to all day. You can't have a birthday without cake, of course, and seeing as his family have brought a newborn baby, Peter feels justified in deciding to use the birthday candles he bought, that he was going to put in a slice later, for Carl's benefit.

"This is for you," he murmurs to Carl as he gets it ready in the kitchen. "I mean, if you don't mind everyone else blowing them out for you. But we'll know."

Carl gives him a lovely smile. "That's very sweet of you, and I love it," he says. "It really is like having a family party. Everyone is having a nice time, it's lovely to watch. I'm really happy to see you enjoying being with them."

Peter smiles. "I am," he says honestly. "This is the least fraught time I've had with my parents in years." 

Carl laughs, and Peter blows him a kiss, in lieu of a real one, before they go back into the dining room. 

Everyone seems to think the candles are a cute touch, and Peter meets Carl's gaze as everyone joins in blowing them out. They smile at each other, and Peter's heart feels all fluttery again, he's just so happy. 

Having a small baby also means that his family don't stay very late, either, which ordinarily Peter would probably feel rather relieved about, but today he feels like it's come too fast and gone too quickly. After all his stress over it, now it's gone so well that he just wants to make the most of it, make up for lost time. Everyone hugs him extra tight, promising to visit again a lot sooner than they're accustomed to, because it's so wonderful to see how well he's doing and what an incredible undertaking he's successfully completed. Peter feels uplifted, overjoyed even, that his parents' reaction was more than he'd ever hoped for.

"They haven't praised me like that since I was getting poetry published when I was at uni," he says to Carl after they've left. "In fact, I think they were even more enthusiastic now, because they'd probably given up hope of me ever achieving anything again," he chuckles. "And it might not exactly have been my doing. But I will happily take the credit for it," he finishes cheerfully.

"You see, you needn't have worried," Carl says again, smiling fondly. "You were a fantastic host. Everyone was more than willing to accept that you've made these changes, and they were proud of you. And so am I." 

"Thank you," Peter says softly. "For all your support. It felt a lot easier to do everything today knowing you were there. Though I'm not sure what I'm going to do if they ever ask to meet you, now they've heard all about how wonderful you are," he says, a smile spreading across his face.

"You can say I'm away on tour, or recording an album," Carl suggests. 

Peter nods. "Maybe you're one of those guys who plays guitar in the shadows on big stages behind superstars, but no one pays any attention to them. But they get paid a lot of money," he elaborates.

Carl laughs. "So you're in it for the money," he teases. 

"I've got used to the five star hotels now," Peter shoots back. "You've spoilt me."

"Maybe we'll get to visit another tonight," Carl wonders hopefully. "It would feel pretty fucking unfair to end up back in Basingstoke for the nights either side of my birthday."

To their delight, it's not Basingstoke that they end up in tonight, but Tokyo, another place Peter has never been, but Carl is thrilled to visit. The dreamscape seems particularly clear tonight, so Peter guesses it must be somewhere Carl feels particularly attached to, and remembers in a lot of detail. Peter happily lets Carl guide him from bustling streets to tranquil gardens and back again, from bright sunshine to sudden nighttime, lit with colourful signs and flashing lights. Peter feels genuinely excited to be there and share in Carl's obvious enjoyment and infectious enthusiasm. And when they've seen enough, Carl puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out the key to room 1203, and they find themselves in a room with a view of the imperial palace, elegant and sweeping, and Peter feels like the luckiest man to ever live. It feels almost unfair to have everything he's got now - a beautiful and comfortable home, a high level of personal freedom, nightly travels and adventures around the world without having to pay a penny - and most of all, everything Carl is to him. A lover, a partner, a perfect companion, a soulmate. Someone who came back, just to be with him. Because the universe made sure of it. It makes the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stand on end. He's going to enjoy every single second, and exult in every experience, and be grateful every day and night. 

And he is, and he does. For two whole weeks, they live an entirely blissful existence. When Peter is at work, Carl consumes all the media he can, of all types and genres and eras, always learning, and always telling Peter all his new thoughts and discoveries in his entertaining way. When Peter isn't at work, they do the same together. It's like living the life of an Ancient Greek philosopher, or an 18th century lord, nourishing the mind and intellect by day, then having adventures with his male lover by night. 

But it's on the longest day of the year that he notices the first sign of something that might threaten their perfect happiness. 

He thinks at first that he's just imagining it, that it's a trick of the light, or of his eyes, or even that it's something that's been the case all along, he's just never noticed. But when it's still the same the next day, and maybe even more noticeable the day after that, he knows something is really wrong.

Carl is starting to slowly fade from view. Peter can see through him, just like he could the last couple of times they came back from the spirit world. It's not very pronounced now, and it's not progressing quickly, but Peter can no longer pretend it isn't happening.

"Carl," he says, in the morning, when they're still in bed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but…" He takes a deep breath, not knowing how to say it. "I think you're fading. I can see through you," he whispers, his heart beating way too fast. 

Carl is looking back at him with wide eyes. "You've noticed it too?" he says, fear obvious in his voice. "I was hoping it was just me seeing wrong, or that it would go away. But it hasn't. And I think it's even getting worse," he goes on, sounding panicked. 

"Do you… feel any different?" asks Peter with trepidation.

"I'm not sure," Carl says uncertainly. "Now that I've noticed it, I can't help but think that everything seems… fainter somehow. Sounds aren't as loud, colours aren't as vivid, shapes aren't as clear. Like I'm being tuned out of this world. Peter, I'm scared," he admits. "I don't feel like there's a way this can get better. Something in me just… knows. At some point I'm going to just… disappear."

"It's not fair," says Peter passionately. "It was perfect. Everything was perfect. We found each other, isn't that how the universe wanted it to be? So many things worked out for us to be together. How can that be snatched away from us?"

"I think… maybe that's just it," Carl says sadly. "It's like we thought right at the beginning. We wondered if maybe I had a mission to complete - like solving the mystery of my death - and after I'd done that, I'd have to go. I think that was right after all, but my mission was to find you, and fall in love with you. And now I've done that… I can't stay here much longer."

As much as Peter still wants to deny it, he also knows somehow that Carl is right. "We haven't even been back to the spirit world, we've been doing everything we should!" he can't help exclaiming bitterly. But as soon as he says it, the next thought comes to him, obvious and natural. "I suppose that that's the only thing we can do. In fact, maybe that's what we must do, what the universe is telling us to do," he says. "Go to the spirit world. Forever." Peter is so relieved at even the possibility of a solution, of a way out, that he grasps onto it like a life raft.

"I think that's probably the only way," Carl says seriously. "But Peter, I know we'd started to feel settled, you've built bridges with your family, you've got such a lot of positive things in your life now. Would you really-"

Peter doesn't even need to hear the rest of what he's going to say, because he knows it's so misguided he almost wants to laugh at Carl's silliness. "Carl, don't you see, that's exactly why it's OK for me to leave now," he says, even beginning to smile a little. "I've got myself a stable situation here, a routine, everything is under control. And with my family, I've tied up all the loose ends there ever were. I've made them happy with me, and they've seen I'm happy, too. I've seen my little sister become a mother, and seen how fulfilled she is. I've finished writing our story. The only thing I would need to do is let them know that it explains everything, and if they read it they'll know the truth. About you, and about us."

Carl allows himself to look a little relieved, too. Peter knows he was just trying to be cautious and not let Peter make any rash decisions, but if there was ever a time when rash decisions were needed, it's now. If there's one thing Peter has lots of experience with that will be more useful than ever, it's his ability to act quickly and instinctively. He feels like everything has fitted perfectly into place. Trying to resist going to the spirit world was always the wrong thing to do, and he's been given the tools and the opportunity to make everything alright in this world, before he goes to the other one - and he's used them perfectly. 

"We might not have a lot of time," Carl whispers. 

"It's alright," Peter reassures him. "We'll know when to go. I know everything I still have left to do, and it won't take me long."

Mostly Peter wants to write some things down - for his family, but also for caretaker Peter. Carl's grandma said she'd written notes for her left behind self, so Peter assumes his own stand in will be able to read and follow instructions too. Just in case he ever gets asked certain questions. Though his alternate self seems to have handled his life perfectly well up till now, so Peter has every faith in him. Not that it really matters to him what happens to the part of him that gets left behind here, but he just wants things to stay the way they are, for his family's sake. After he's finally managed to work things out with them and reassure them, he doesn't want some robot version of himself to undo all of that.

First, though, he starts trying to find a way to explain all of this to his family. On reflection, he doesn't know why he's surprised to find that it's much more difficult than he anticipated, to tell them that the man he's fallen in love with, that he told them all about, is a ghost and they've had to run off to another dimension where they can be together forever. It sounds simple when he puts it like that, but there's no getting around the fact that it's also impossible to prepare anyone adequately to ever hear that, or to get them to understand it. He has it all written down already - the difficulty is just trying to convey that the story isn't the work of imaginative fiction that it seems to be. 

Even if he thinks of the right way to explain it, how is he going to give them the message? He briefly contemplates sending a letter to his parents and his sisters, along with copies of the story for them to read, but when he thinks about it a little more, he realises with relief that he doesn't really need to bite the bullet quite that hard. He doesn't see his family very often anyway, and caretaker Peter is clearly perfectly good at keeping up with any necessary correspondence with them. They won't worry, or notice anything is different. And the next time they visit - or even if he visits them, because caretaker Peter is also obviously capable of getting around, and doing real world, human things - that stand in Peter can simply give them the letter, and the story. 

He decides to write down his instructions to the self he's leaving behind first. It seems simpler, and it makes him feel like he's halfway there. He feels a kind of pride, like he's leaving his alternate self in charge, knowing he can look after himself. Peter chuckles at the thought - it almost feels like he's raised a son who can now live independently from him, even though really Peter has had minimal input in the remarkable development of other Peter's self-care skills. He doesn't really feel like he needs to tell him much, other than the instructions about what to tell his family.

The more Peter struggles with how exactly to break it to them, the more he goes round in circles - should he even tell them at all? They don't see him very often, they've obviously communicated with alternate Peter without any problems or, seemingly, without even noticing. So could he just slip away, leaving them slightly confused after their annual visit, but still happy and satisfied that Peter is living a comfortable, stable life? 

It's more tempting than Peter wants to admit. But it doesn't feel right. He's going forever, not just for a few weeks this time - he can't leave his parents wondering for the rest of their lives why their son was suddenly so different, and never came back to how he was before. When he thinks about it like that, his heart aches a little, at leaving them behind with this altered being in place of the son they knew and loved - but this way, they stand a chance of understanding why he had to do what he's going to do. And it's comforting to remember that eventually, he should meet them there, just like he and Carl met Carl's grandma. Time in the spirit world passes in a very different way - a few hours there is months here, so it shouldn't feel like an unbearable length of time for Peter to wait. And for his parents, they'll still have the alternate version of Peter, who's the one who lives and acts like they always wanted - and they'll know that he, real Peter, is happy. That's the most important thing for them to know. He's happy, and they'll see him again. 

In the urgency of the situation, even in the deepest emotion of it, Peter has no doubts, and no hesitancy. He knows with absolute clarity that he doesn't want anything but to go with Carl. There's not even a moment where he feels afraid. 

But as he wrestles with his various conundrums, time is inevitably passing, and every morning when they wake, they both look hard at Carl’s form, to assess the progression of whatever is going on, and Peter feels a cold, desperate feeling in his stomach and running down his spine, reminded that there’s no escape.

“How do you feel?” he asks, though he’s scared to hear the answer.

“Faint,” Carl says, and he even manages to smile in a way that makes Peter’s heart want to burst. Carl is so strong, and so kind that he doesn’t want to drag Peter down, even at a time like this. “It’s hard to describe. I really do feel… light, somehow. Out of it, like I’m spacing out. I don’t feel like I have a lot of energy left,” he says, and that makes Peter feel even more afraid. Carl’s voice is noticeably fainter too, and the tangible change makes Peter have to fight hard against the feelings of panic threatening to rise and overwhelm him. He has to keep it together, just a little longer. 

“It’ll be alright,” he says, trying to sound like he’s in full control of his emotions. “Everything will be done very soon.” He can do it, he knows, for Carl’s sake. He’ll do it today. 

So he does. The first time he’s set himself a deadline and stuck to it since he was at university, probably. But this is the most urgent and important thing he’s ever had to do, the thing that’s meant the most to him ever in his life. He knows it rests on him to save Carl, and save them - the thought of never seeing Carl again, after this brief, perfect window of love that he never knew was possible, is something he really can’t bear to think about, because if he does, he really will lose control of himself. So he just sits and writes a simple letter to his family, by hand, as well as at the start of his story, just saying that they should read what he’s written, and know that it’s true, no matter how impossible it is to believe - but Peter knows he’s been making people believe impossible but true things about himself all his life. 

It feels like writing a will, which he supposes he should do as well. When alternate Peter’s body finally gives out, everything he owns can pass to his new niece, he decides. It’s an easy decision, and everyone will be pleased with it. He also feels like he’s writing one of those “If you’re reading this, then I must be dead” letters - and he guesses he sort of is, but he’s at pains to point out that he knows exactly where he’s going, and that he’ll be having a marvellous time - and he knows they’ll meet again. _'Not dead, but gone before.'_

Once it’s done, and he’s satisfied with it, he feels a peacefulness wash over him, the anxiety and the pressure lifted entirely. He feels free. More than that, he feels excited. It’s like moving to a faraway land - or even like moving house to a place less than a hundred miles away, where he entirely unexpectedly walked into the place the universe wanted him to be. It’s a new start, with literally infinite possibilities, and he’s going to be there with Carl. 

Feeling unburdened, his letter on his bureau alongside his instructions to the self he’s leaving behind, he races up the stairs to his bedroom, where Carl has been all day. 

“I’m ready,” he says simply, because he is. 

Carl looks up at him from where he’s sitting up on the bed, his face full of hope and eagerness. It gives Peter a pang to see how much of him is already gone from this world, but it doesn’t matter now. Soon they’ll be back together, whole and tangible and forever. Peter gets onto the bed with him, and takes the ring from his finger. 

“I love you,” says Carl fiercely. “I love you so much, and no-one could ever be happier or more grateful than I am, that you’re doing this for me.”

“I’m doing it _with_ you,” Peter says gently. “We’re doing this together. I love you too, and I can’t wait to be with you there.”

Carl beams at him, and Peter lays the ring carefully down between them on the bedcovers, feeling only joy and anticipation as they both move their hands towards it. They look into each other’s eyes, smiling, their fingers touch the ring - and they’re there. 

But when Peter looks around himself, he realises with alarm that he's still on the bed, in his bedroom, in his house. His eyes widen and he looks at Carl in panic, terrified that it hasn't worked, and they're stuck there, just waiting for the inevitable.

"Carl!" he exclaims. "Why are we still here?"

"I don't know," says Carl, looking just as worried. "But we can find out. Take my hand," he says, offering it, and Peter rushes to grab onto it, if he can.

He can. Carl is solid and warm in his grasp, and Peter's heart jumps with momentary relief that Carl is real, or at least as real as Peter is - but it's tempered still with a little confusion.

"Are we - are we there yet?" Peter asks nervously, still holding onto Carl's hand tightly. "Why are we still in our house, rather than London or Paris or Bangkok? Did you… materialise, or something?"

"I'm not sure either," Carl says cautiously. "I certainly feel… alive. But you're right, this has never happened before."

"The ring!" Peter exclaims suddenly. "If it's gone, then we must be in the spirit world. But if it's still here… then something very strange has happened."

They both look down, feeling around on the bedcovers, but they don't find anything. Peter starts to let himself feel all the emotions that he's desperately trying to keep at bay until he's one hundred and ten per cent certain everything has worked out the way they planned - but there's just one more thing he wants to check. 

He formulates a thought, an image in his mind, as he gets up from the bed, goes to the window - and immediately calls for Carl to join him.

"Look!" he says excitedly. "That doesn't look like my garden, does it?"

He points, and Carl makes a sound of shock and wonder, because the view out of the window is no longer a green English country garden, with nearby trees and lanes and fields - now they see twinkling lights, a wide river in the middle distance, and, just a little further than that, the Eiffel Tower.

"I pictured Paris," Peter says simply.

"I think we made it," Carl says, a wide smile spreading across his face to match the one on Peter's.

Finally, finally they can give into the joy and elation that _they've succeeded_ , they made it, they're here in the spirit world and they're together and everything is going to be OK. Peter can't help breaking into laughter, he's just so thrilled that it's worked and Carl is safe and they have so much to look forward to. He throws himself into Carl's arms and kisses him with abandon, knowing that now he can do that whenever he likes, forever. Kissing Carl here is just breathtaking, and Peter thinks it's even better than he remembered, it feels like so long since they were last here.

"I've missed doing that so much," he murmurs when they break apart. "It's the best."

"I can think of one thing that's better," Carl says, raising his eyebrows, and Peter giggles.

"Well, we're certainly in the right place for it already," he agrees. "How convenient."

"It's like the universe is specifically telling us to do it," Carl says, already starting to take his clothes off. 

"God, I can't wait," Peter says fervently, doing the same as they stumble back to the bed. 

They fumble with buttons and zips and socks, but they're so keen that they're both naked in no time, and both already hard for each other, eager and ready just at the thought of finally getting to make love to each other again. Peter pulls Carl to him and kisses him wildly, going down easily when Carl pushes him back down on the bed and climbs on top of him. Peter feels his heart already racing, he already feels feverishly turned on, and he parts his legs so Carl can get between them, encouraging him to go as quick as he can.

Carl presses hot kisses to his mouth and neck as he positions himself, and Peter lets out a long, low groan of satisfaction as Carl pushes all the way inside him. Carl holds himself over him for a moment, looking into his eyes, and Peter feels love flash through him all over again, it all just feels so good, in his body and his heart and his soul. This is what it is to be completely one with someone, he thinks, and he feels the gravity between them as Carl leans down to kiss him again. It starts slow and intense, and Carl starts to move his hips in steady waves, making Peter whimper against his lips, but neither of them can keep to that pace, they're too caught up in the roiling, overpowering rush of finally being here, and getting to be together like this again. It's dizzying, and Peter feels so open and so sensitive that every touch, every sensation makes him shiver and tremble and moan. 

He clutches onto Carl tightly, pulling him deeper inside and gasping at every stroke, wanting Carl to fuck him quick and hard and loving it when he does, greedy for everything he's giving him. It's too good, too exciting, to finally be this close to Carl again, to have all this pleasure bursting inside him, undoing him, filling him completely up till every part of him feels so good he can hardly stand it. He can't move, doesn't want to or need to, everything Carl is doing to him, everything Carl is making him feel is more and better than he's ever felt before. Everything is magnified by the depth of emotion swirling and welling inside him, the love and desire and overwhelming joy, and Peter has never had an experience like it.

Carl reaches between them to touch Peter's cock, and Peter cries out when he feels Carl start to stroke him, he didn't think it could get any better. It isn't going to last much longer, but it doesn't have to - this concentrated moment of ecstasy is worth chasing, to see how far it will go. 

Carl is moving more desperately against him, and Peter wraps his arms around his neck so they can kiss, clumsy and messy and hot, until they both come, shaking and clinging to each other, delirious as they ride the crest of the wave and eventually start to slowly come back down. 

They lie there for some time, with a sense of complete peace and fulfillment and perfect satisfaction, just gently kissing. Peter can't keep the silly, giddy, besotted smile off his face, and when Carl smiles back at him, just as giddily, it makes Peter's heart soar. Eventually Carl eases off him and they settle under the bedcovers, still as close as they can get. 

"I'm happy we're still here, in our house," Carl murmurs. "I've always wished we could make love in our own bed, in our own home."

Peter is so touched that he can feel unexpected tears start to prickle. "I'm glad too," he says, with feeling. "Our own home. I'm so happy we didn't have to leave it behind after all."

"It's an important place, because it brought us together," Carl says. "And if we get tired of adventures and exploring exotic new locales - or even if we don't - it's lovely to have somewhere to call our own."

"It is," Peter agrees. "And we don't have to go far to go on those adventures either," he chuckles, remembering Paris outside their window, and presumably anywhere else they want to go. "Where do you want to go first?" 

Carl thinks for a moment. "You know, maybe somewhere in America. San Francisco perhaps," he says. "I have a lot of good memories of it."

"Sounds good to me," says Peter. "But can we stay here just a little bit longer?"

"We've got all the time in the world, after all," Carl says with a chuckle, and Peter's heart skips with excitement knowing that they'll never have to rush or worry again. They can do everything they want, whenever they want, and as many times as they want. Forever.

Eventually, they feel sufficiently motivated to get up, and get dressed - Peter looks in the wardrobe to find clothes he'd always dreamed of owning, designer suits of all vintages, and football shirts the same, plus a shelf stacked full of hats, from homburg to pork pie. And for Carl there's quite a lot of leather, and tight jeans in many shades of black and blue, and Peter is extremely happy about that. 

When they're finally ready, they look at each other with childlike excitement. 

"OK, so think Californian thoughts," says Carl, and they smile at each other as Peter opens the front door.

In front of them a scene swims into view, like a camera slowly focussing, and they step out onto a bustling, colourful street under a bright blue sky. They look around themselves in wonder and delight, turning to each other with giddy laughs, and Peter takes Carl's hand in his as they turn and start to walk down the hill.

"We're on Haight Street," Carl says. "Perfect."

"It looks fantastic," says Peter, whose only visits to America have been to Florida when he was a kid. "I'm seeing quite a few vintage shops," he says, feeling his shopping urges start to kick in.

"We can go in anywhere you like," Carl chuckles, and Peter is just about to head straight into the nearest boutique, when, just like in Hyde Park that time, they hear a distinct voice behind them.

"Carl?" It's a woman's voice, and they both turn to see a colourfully dressed lady standing there next to a man who, aside from his dark beard, looks a little familiar to Peter somehow.

"Mum?" Carl exclaims, his eyes wide. "And dad as well!"

His mum rushes forward to hug him tightly, relinquishing her hold so his dad can have a turn, but then hugging him again with happy tears in her eyes. 

"I'm so happy to see you, after all this time," she says, her voice wobbling with emotion. "What happened to you? Where have you been?"

"It's… a very long story, but I'm happy to tell it," Carl says, with a smile. "And this is the man who helped me figure it out. This is Peter," he says, putting his arm around Peter's waist and leaning into him in a way that can't possibly be misinterpreted.

Peter beams, overjoyed that Carl sounds so proud and happy to be with him and to show him off to his parents. Just like with Carl's grandma, he's fully prepared now for both Carl's mum and dad to hug him unreservedly.

"It's nice to meet you," he says, a little shyly.

"So you met Carl on the other side?" his mum asks, very matter of factly. Peter supposes you get used to it, when you've been here a while. Or maybe making jokes about one's mortal status runs in the family, because Carl seemed to take to it pretty quickly too.

"Yes, I, erm, moved into his old house," Peter says, wondering how much to explain right now. 

"I was very surprised to find myself dead," Carl says dryly. "But Peter took it all in his stride, and he helped me remember everything that happened to me. And pretty quickly, we fell in love. And that's what brought us here," he says simply, and Peter feels a wave of affection swell and burst in his chest once again. He won't ever get tired of hearing Carl say those words.

"I'm so happy for you both," Carl's mum says, looking between them with a proud smile. "You know, I always believed you were still alive, Carl, all that time after you disappeared," she says firmly.

Carl looks sheepish. "I'm afraid I wasn't," he admits. "But I did only just get here."

"We did wonder about that," Carl's dad interjects. "After we got here, and we never saw you anywhere… I thought maybe you'd ended up in, you know. The other place," he says, and Peter isn't quite sure how much he's joking.

"Wait, there's another place?" Carl says, stopped in his tracks a little. 

"With all your hell-raising, I wasn't sure if you'd make it to this world here," dad goes on, entirely too jovially. "But you did, and I'm delighted to see you."

Carl laughs, evidently not too unsettled by his dad's reflections on his lifestyle. "Me too," he says affectionately. "And I saw gran as well, one time when we were here before. We've been… coming and going," Carl explains. "But we decided to stay permanently this time." 

"Just like she did," his mum says, and Peter realises she must know how it's done now too, how it's possible to slip between worlds, and how a living person can choose this one over the other, for the love of someone who belongs here, rather than there.

"Just like that," Peter murmurs, his eyes sliding to Carl, meeting his gaze with a smile that he knows must show the extent of his love and gratitude to be here, with Carl, because he just can't possibly hide those feelings.

"You really must have a lot to tell us about," Carl's mum says, accurately. "Come on, let's go somewhere we can catch up properly."

They decide to walk, rather than go the instant way this time, and Peter takes Carl's hand again, just wanting to be touching him. He didn't have any doubts about their coming here, but meeting Carl's parents has just confirmed how right it feels to be here. He feels welcomed into the family, and reassured that one day, it will be as easy and joyful to reunite with his own. And in the meantime - he and Carl have the whole world, and each other, to explore, together, and eternity to do it in.


End file.
